


whispers from a dark corner

by BlinkFl0yd



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: "hello my name is maka albarn. you killed my father. prepare to die.", Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Feels, Gen, Ghosts, Graphic Description of Corpses, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Murder Mystery, Post-Anime, Resbang 2018, Self-Mutilation, Serial Killers, Talking To Dead People, but you could probably tell that by reading the summary, i wrote this by blasting "smooth criminal" on repeat and it probably shows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 13:58:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 74,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17489324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlinkFl0yd/pseuds/BlinkFl0yd
Summary: When tragedy strikes and Soul stumbles upon Death Scythe murdered in his own home, he’s plunged into the aftermath of the fallout, including a hunt for a witch with a troubled past, a strain on on his and Maka’s resonance, and having to watch his meister fall onto a grief-fueled path for revenge. But, it what feel like sick twist in order to make things even more complicated, it turns out that Death Scythe never really left. And the only one who can see or even sense him at all is Soul, who subsequently becomes forced in between Maka and her father as both struggle to come to terms with what has happened, and what it means for their history with each other.





	1. a strawberry pastry and an unlocked door

It’d started with a pile of used books.

 

It was the start of the new school year, the one that came right after they had killed the Kishin, and he and Maka had to take a few classes specific to pairs looking to make Death Scythes. Maka’s dad had jumped into the picture not long after they had registered, offering up the old books that he and Maka’s mother had used when they had taken those same classes as a part of his seemingly endless campaign to get back into Maka’s good graces. Soul didn’t particularly mind either way, but the only reason Maka had agreed was because those books were three hundred apiece and, though Soul was only guessing at this part, because she was interested in using books that had belonged to her mother. 

 

Of course, she chose the night where she was attending some training regimen that Sid was holding for extra credit to tell her father that she was picking them up (and Soul was near-positive that she did this on purpose), so that she would end up oh-so-conveniently calling Spirit the night before to inform him that Soul would be picking them up the next day instead in her place since she had “forgotten” that she had a school event.

 

Which meant that Death Scythe, who had probably been hoping for an opportunity to sucker Maka into a cup or tea or something at his place when she came to pick them up, was decidedly not happy when he learned this. Soul had spent the the entire day leading up to that evening being barked at across the hallways to not be late, receiving hourly reminders in the form of slips of paper being delivered to his classes straight from the Death Room, and being not-so-subtly glared at in the class that Death Scythe had taken over for Stein. 

 

Soul had already been irritated at that point, but it was when Death Scythe had left a voice message on his cell phone that he finally reached the limits of his patients.

 

_ “Last reminder- be there on time. I’ll be back from work around six-thirty, and I don’t have the time to worry about when a lazy little freeloader is gonna get here.” _

 

He liked to think he was a pretty level-headed guy, but Maka’s dad had spent most of the day getting on his nerves and eventually something had to give. 

 

He’d been planning to get there around seven, but he spent until seven forty-five reclining back in one of Deathbucks’ chairs, sipping at the new caramel apple smoothie the place had recently released, and was enjoying the soft sound of an old jazz solo he’d set to croon from the nearby jukebox. 

 

Most of the place had been completely remodeled. The entire city being taken on a joyride only months prior had caused plenty of damage, meaning a lot of reconstruction had to be done. Soul hadn’t been to Deathbucks since it had reopened, and walking in to see the changes was somewhat jarring.

 

Though admittedly, not much had  _ drastically _ changed. There were shiny new window panes, the floorboards were a different color, the positioning of the tables was a bit different, but other than that, it still looked like the same place Soul had been going to for years. But still, he couldn’t quite shake the fact that the jukebox he was listening to wasn’t the same one with Black Star’s symbol carved into the side, that the booth he usually sat in with Maka whenever they came here alone had been replaced by a shinier, newer table missing the familiar scratches.

 

Anya was still there though, and from the looks of it, she still had to wear that too-short skirt as her uniform. There was a comfortable familiarity in how she made her rounds throughout the cafe, as well as the silent buzz of the few patrons murmuring to themselves at their tables. The jazz tune he had playing was different than what he normally listened to since it was on a different jukebox, but it still sounded okay. It was kinda nice, just taking a second to himself, something that he hadn’t had in a while. When he heard his phone buzzing from what was likely Death Scythe calling him, he had no problem ignoring it. 

 

Then, he heard the bell hanging over the entrance jingle.

 

“Hey!” Anya’s voice called sharply, not soon after. “Hey, get out! You’re banned, remember?”

 

For a split second, Soul had thought she was talking to him before he glanced up to see a dark-haired girl who looked about a few years older than him standing at the entrance, glaring daggers at Anya with icy blue eyes.

 

“What, you won’t take my money?” She snapped. 

 

“No, because Master doesn’t want you here!” Anya snapped back.

 

Soul got to his feet immediately, already preparing to summon a blade or two if he had to, because the girl was glaring daggers at Anya in a way that set off all sorts of alarm bells in his head. Or at least, one that hinted towards a fight about to break out.

 

_ “Seriously?!”  _ The girl growled. “Look, I just want a strawberry bear claw, and then I’ll be on my way, you’re the closest place that sells them-”

 

“Well, unfortunately, us morons have no desire to serve you anything,” Anya said flatly. “So I’m afraid you’ll have to leave.”

 

The girl audibly  _ growled _ . “Well, tell your  _ Master _ he can shove a big spiky stick up his-”

 

“Do you want me to get him?” Anya threatened. “If you don’t leave,  _ right now,  _ then I will get him.”

 

The girl scoffed dismissively, but the irritated aggression was still there, in her barbed gaze, her clenched fists, the way she positively  _ glowered _ at Anya, and her eyes were narrowed in a manner that reminded Soul disturbingly of Medusa’s glare. _“Please._ Go right ahead. I dare you.”

 

Anya’s hardset expression wavered slightly, and Soul couldn’t exactly blame her.

 

“Oy.” Despite having a distinct feeling that that this girl might be able to kick his ass, Soul stepped forward towards Anya’s side, right arm transforming into a blade and pointed towards the new girl. “You heard her. Get lost.”

 

“And who the hell are you?” The girl snapped.

 

“One of the many people in this place that isn’t going to put up with your bullshit. How about you take a look around?”

 

He watched as the girl’s eyes flickered around her, taking in the heavy stares the other patrons were leveling in their direction, stares that Soul could feel at his back. There weren’t that many other customers, and Soul wasn’t even completely sure whether these people were weapons are meisters or if they were even a part of the DWMA, but the amount alone was definitely  _ enough _ .

 

“You really want to turn this into a big scene?” Soul said lowly. “‘Cause I don’t think anybody in here really believes in the whole “the customer is always right” deal.”

 

Unsurprisingly, she backed down, though her face contorted into an almost childlike sneer, like a toddler getting upset at not getting her way. “Whatever.” She turned heel, a dark ponytail whipping around behind her. She had shoes with thick soles, Soul noticed, big red clunky boots with soles inches thick that struck into the ground like a whipcrack as she stomped back through the door. “I have somewhere to be, anyway!”

 

The door slammed shut with a final, violent jingle. Soul slunk back towards his chair as the rest of the customers gradually started to turn back to whatever they had been doing before, murmuring to themselves.

 

“Thanks,” Anya muttered to him as she came over to take his plate. “Master actually went home early today, and I don’t think I could have handled her on my own.”

 

“Don’t worry about it. What’s her deal, anyway?”

 

Anya pursed her lips, looking the haughtiest he’d ever seen her. “She’s a terrible customer. Gets into arguments with other patrons, calls us all idiots and morons and… and other names not worth repeating in polite company. Last time she was here, she made Tsugumi cry, and that was the last straw for Master to ban her. She wasn’t really happy about it.”

 

“Is she a DWMA student?” Soul knew that there were hundreds of students enrolled at the DWMA, but he had a feeling he would have recognized her if he had seen her before.

 

“Must be. Or at least, that’s what I was assuming.” Anya shook her head in a little  _ tut tut tut _ motion. “I’m sorry you had to deal with it.”

 

“It’s cool. Hey, if she comes around again you’ll call someone to handle it, right? You probably shouldn’t try to deal with her by yourself.” 

 

She waved a dismissive hand at him. “Of course I will. Did you need anything else?”

 

The rest of his cafe visit went smoothly. He got one last pastry for the road, got a few more for the other residents of his apartment (a cranberry muffin for Maka and a tuna patty for Blair), and, when he was sure that Death Scythe had gotten the message about how he felt about a grown man throwing a tantrum, paid and tipped and left. When he checked his phone to see how badly said man had blown up his phone, he was surprised to only find the two calls.

 

Which, in retrospect, probably should have been the first warning sign.

 

* * *

 

Nothing really seemed amiss when he arrived at Death Scythe’s apartment. 

 

He’d had to check in with a security guard, a tall, thin man with prominent bald spot and a thick mustache. Death Scythe lived in a fairly expensive apartment building with a decent layer of security. Maka, who had lived there with her mother before her parents’ divorce, had mentioned once or twice that it was one of the perks of being a death scythe, meaning that Soul had that to look forward to once he and Maka managed to kill a real witch.

 

“Go right on in, sonny,” The guard had said, and when he’d smiled, there was a fairly prominent gap in his teeth.

 

When he knocked at the the door, no one responded. He waited, knocked again, waited some more, knocked again, and quickly came to the conclusion that nobody was answering the damn door.

 

Soul sighed. Well, he  _ was _ horrifically late, maybe Death Scythe fell asleep or something. Maybe he was watching TV and couldn’t hear him. Or, maybe he was even doing the thing that Maka did sometimes when she really didn’t want to be disturbed where she’d put ear plugs in while she read. He always figured she had to have picked up her more annoying habits from  _ somewhere. _

 

“Yo! Death Scythe! I’m here!” Soul called, as loud as he could, not even caring if he pissed off some of the neighbors.

 

Nothing.

 

So he went back downstairs and stepped back outside, thinking maybe he could find a few pebbles small enough that he could throw them at Death Scythe’s window without breaking the glass. Death Scythe’s apartment was the few in the building that had a balcony, so it wasn’t hard to miss from the outside. 

 

Neither was the fact that, despite being three stories up, he could see that the balcony door was wide open. He could even see a glimpse of the apartment inside, and the gray, gauze-like curtains that were fluttering in and out of the door like dancing wraiths.

 

That caused the first spark of unease, burning and gnawing at the insides of his ribcage. 

 

Soul tried to rationalize with himself immediately, because sure, the door was open, but it wasn’t any cause for alarm. At all. Death Scythe had probably just wanted a breeze, or maybe there was a smell in the apartment that he was trying to air out. But at the same time, the sense of paranoia that he’d developed after the disaster in Italy, after the big fight with the Kishin, remembered pointedly that Death Scythe had only called him twice in the cafe, and, given how obnoxious the man could be, that was a  _ tad _ bit concerning.

 

But he shoved it back down, because that was  _ definitely _ not a reason to panic.

 

He flipped out his phone, dialed Death Scythe’s number, and waited. 

 

No answer.

 

He tried again. This time, he left a voicemail of his own. 

 

“Hey old man, I’m here. I’ve been knocking on your door for a while now, where are you?”

 

When he hung up he stared up at the inside of the apartment, watching for any movement. He waited for his phone to buzz, for Death Scythe to call him back.

 

Nothing.

 

The unease was starting to grow. Something was starting to feel wrong, and he was starting to think that maybe it wasn’t just him being paranoid. He could see that the apartment lights were on, but the longer he watched through the balcony, it still felt too motionless. 

 

Still. There was no reason to panic.

 

_ “How do you know that?” _ A familiar little voice whispered, and Soul shoved it back down too.  **_Quiet._ **

 

“Everything all right, sonny?” Asked the guard when Soul passed him again. He was talking to another, even older guard, who had a jacket and a messenger bag slung over his shoulder, who blinked at Soul with cloudy, almost glazed-over blue eyes as he walked in. 

 

“Did Death Scythe leave?” Soul asked.

 

“Death Scythe?” The other guard asked with a frown. “You mean  _ the _ Death Scythe?”

 

“Yeah.” Soul was tempted to ask what other Death Scythe there could be, but he bit his tongue. “Has he left at all tonight?”

 

“No, he didn’t,” Gap-tooth guard responded. “At least, I didn’t see him leave. Have you, Norm?”

 

“Nope,” Norm answered. He had a subtle Southern accent, barely noticeable if it weren’t for the slight twang. “He should still be up there.”

 

“Alright.” He was unsure of what to do, thinking maybe he should call Maka and see if she had a key to the apartment. After thanking both guards, he went back upstairs, thinking he’d knock some more, and then try to call Maka.

 

“Death Scythe! Come  _ on!” _ He yelled, knocking as loudly as he can. He reached for the door knob, not really thinking it would be unlocked, because really, what kind of guy in Death Scythe’s profession would just leave his front door unlocked? 

 

Instead, the door knob turned, and opened by just a crack, with no lock to obstruct it, revealing a sliver of the well-lit insides of the apartment. 

 

Soul blinked. 

 

So maybe Death Scythe  _ was _ home then. Or at least, that’s what he assumed, because why else would the door be unlocked and lights be left on?

 

Slowly, he pushed the door open the rest of the way, and it fell open without so much as a creak.

 

From where he was standing, he could see through Death Scythe’s entryway, across through a motionless living room to the edge of the balcony. He’d never been to the man’s apartment before, but he could reasonably conclude that there were no signs of life, much less that Death Scythe was even there.

 

“Death Scythe?” He called, voice wavering somewhat as he stepped inside through the entryway. At that moment, alarm bells in his head were starting to go off, because something felt  _ wrong _ . The apartment felt cold and abandoned, in a way that shouldn’t because all signs from the outside were pointing to the fact that Death Scythe should be  _ home. _

 

He was standing in the living room, then, with a hallway to his left and an entrance to a kitchen to the right, and even then he couldn’t see anything out of ordinary. Nothing seemed unturned, the books on the bookshelves and the contents resting on the coffee table- a half-filled wine glass, a copy of  _ Playboy, _ and a pair of folded reading glasses- all seemed normal, normal except for a sharp, tangy metallic smell wafting from the kitchen that caused Soul’s senses to jolt-

 

With a jolt, Soul recognized the scent.

 

Blood _. _

 

The alarms began to blare louder, and panic set it.

 

“Death Scythe?!” Scythe blades materialized from his wrists, and there was brief half-second where he debated going for his cell, or even finding a mirror to call for backup, before he decided that  _ no _ , that was  _ blood _ , somebody was likely seriously  _ hurt _ , and he charged without a second thought towards the kitchen.

 

He couldn’t even make it through the doorway.

 

It was like someone dropped a can of dark paint hard enough that it exploded. A bucketful of deep crimson, splattered all over Death Scythe’s kitchen, on the floor of the tiles, on the sides of the counters like a flower in bloom.

 

And in the center of it-

 

It felt like the world had stopped, like time had frozen. His brain had short-circuited, and all he could see was a hand outstretched and limp and lifeless on the pale tile floor, a fan of familiar red hair so darkened with blood the strands looked almost black, the same tall figure that’d been lurking ever-so-annoyingly in the background ever since Soul had partnered with his daughter lying still and unmoving on the floor-

 

He remembered stumbling backwards, back into the living room, like he had been struck. The scent of blood was thick, even thicker than in Italy when he had been gutted like a fish. He’d be smelling it on his skin for weeks.

 

In the corner of his vision, his eyes caught a flicker of movement and he whipped around to face it.

 

Across Death Scythe’s living room, behind the fluttering gray curtains that led to the balcony, there was a figure he recognized from less than an hour earlier.

 

He recognized the dark ponytail, the clunky red boots. For the second time that night, he was staring into a pair of icy blue eyes.

 

Then the girl from Deathbucks turned, and leapt off of Death Scythe’s balcony and into the night. 

 

By the time Soul had reached the balcony ledge, she was gone.

 

 


	2. sunrises and lullabies

Soul had placed a call directly to Lord Death himself, and it wasn’t long before a team of agents showed up to Death Scythe’s apartment building. And then another not long after that, and then another, until the entire place was swarming like a beehive. 

 

He was grilled up and down about when he’d arrived at the building, how he’d found Death Scythe, about what the Deathbucks girl looked like. Sid had showed up, and Stein not long after. 

 

It was about ten o’clock when he’d finally gotten the courage to call Maka to leave her a brief, vague voicemail, mainly because she had been blowing up his phone for about an hour beforehand after Sid had had to cut the class short, after she came home and he still wasn’t there, after word had reached her that the city was on lockdown.

 

_ “You’re joking right? Soul, please tell me you’re joking.” _

 

The night passed in a blur. He would remember it in snapshots, some details clearer than others, some that were far, far too clear, crystalline and sharp at the edges- Stein sitting at Death Scythe’s couch, staring vacantly at his hands as the gurney was wheeled away, Sid in the corner, expression stonier than usual and hands tugging a bit too hard at his dreads, that horrible, stinging smell of blood that lingered around the room even after the body was taken out, and he couldn’t do anything but sit there because he was being interviewed and re-interviewed in what felt like every other minute or so, and it was  _ ages _ before he could finally go home, only to be face-to-face with Maka, wide-eyed, trembling Maka, who begged him to tell her what she had heard wasn’t true.

 

_ “Soul, _ **_please-”_ **

 

It felt like an eternity had passed before he was finally sitting on his couch, watching as thin threads of morning light start to leak through the living room curtains, but it didn’t feel at all like the relief he’d hoped it would be mere hours ago. He could never see souls the way she could, but he could still practically feel Maka tucked away in her bedroom upstairs, door closed and shut with a sense of finality that  _ terrified _ him, as much as he didn’t want to admit it.

 

He felt a familiar weight hop down from the back of the couch and onto the cushion next to him, and when he looked down Blair’s sad yellow eyes stared up at him from underneath the brim of her little hat.

 

“You should go to bed, kitten,” she said softly.

 

“It’s gonna be morning soon.” Soul’s voice came out in a croak. “We have school.”

 

“The city’s still on lockdown. I really don’t think they’ll be having classes tomorrow. Or today, anyway. You might as well have a little nap.”

 

He ignored her, because he had a funny, funny feeling he wouldn’t be sleeping for a long time. “Can you check on Maka for me?”

 

“I already tried. She won’t let me in.” Blair rested her head on top of Soul’s knee, letting out a small, weary sigh. 

 

Soul absentmindedly scratched behind her neck, then clenched his hand into a fist once he felt how it trembled. 

 

Blair didn’t say anything, but he could feel her curl in closer.

 

There wasn’t much else to say, so neither of them said anything else.

 

* * *

 

 

_ He dreamed he was fighting against rolling black waves, swimming desperately against the pulls that tried to drag him down, beating around his face and limbs until they felt  _ **_numb-_ **

 

**_(Where am I what happened why can’t I feel-?)_ **

 

_ He dreamed his strength was being slowly sapped. Maybe he was screaming, but the roar of the waves drowned everything out like static, and he was being pulled down- _

 

**_(It hurt, it hurt, why did it hurt-)_ **

 

_ He was fighting a losing battle, being dragged deeper and deeper further and further  _ **_down_ ** _ , like arms grasping at him and refusing to let go- _

 

_ He dreamed he was d r o wn ing- _

 

_ Being dragged  _ **_D_ **

**_O_ **

 

**_W_ **

 

**_N_ **

 

_ all the way _

 

_ into the depths _

 

**_(Oh god, please let this be a bad dream-)_ **

 

_ Until he opened his eyes. _

 

_ He floated in dark, murky water, the surface so far that it felt nonexistent. _

 

_ And in front of him, inches from his face, a pale face with red hair floating around his head like a halo stared directly at him. _

 

_“Soul,”_ _Spirit Albarn whispered through a mouthful of blood, bubbling from his lips and evaporating into a dark bloom into the water._ _His eyes were wide, confused and terrified. “Soul Eater-?”_

 

_ Soul opened his mouth, and screamed as his lungs  _ **_B U R N E D-_ ** **-**

 

**(No please, don’t turn away-)**

 

**(I’m**

 

**right**

**HERE)**

  
  


**.**

 

**.**

 

**.**

  
  
  


“Her name is Annie Channon.”

 

A projector had been set up in the middle of the Death Room, and a black and white photo of the girl that had been looming over them all like a specter stared him down from the surface of a white tarp. He could feel how Maka stiffened next to him, and it was almost automatic how his fingers clasped around hers, meeting her halfway as she reached out to him. 

 

Looking at her from a stranger’s point of view, it would have been easy to say that she looked normal, unaffected, easy to believe that she hadn’t just lost her lying, cheating, smothering, overprotective father. But Soul knew how drained she was, how much the past few days had taken out of her. He could acknowledge how worn-out she looked, how the look in her eyes was a bit too hard, a bit too unwavering, and it only made him grip her hand harder.

 

“Five days ago, at around 7:15 PM, she was seen heading to Death Scythe’s neighborhood about a half an hour before his body was found.” Sid, who still looked more worn-down than usual, flipped a page in a thick notebook before continuing. “Based on evidence collected at the Death City train station and various witness reports, she’d been in the city for at least three days before the death took place.”

 

“Reports like what?” Growled one of the tinny voices from the array of mirrors set up in front of the screen. One of the Death Scythes, Soul presumed, but he couldn’t recognize the voice and he couldn’t see most of the faces very well from where he was sitting and how the mirrors were angled. All seven of them had been contacted from their stations for an emergency deposition, along with various other DWMA officials that Soul didn’t recognize that practically surrounded him and Maka. The only faces that he knew were Kid and the Thompsons, who stood next to Lord Death on one side of the projector with grim expressions, Stein, who had dark, extremely prominent circles under his eyes, and of course, Sid, who stood next to Nygus.

 

Which was a given. He and Maka technically weren’t even supposed to be at this Three-Star meeting, but. Well. It was her _ dad, _ and as soon as Maka had heard about the meeting, she’d demanded to be able to attend. They had Kid to thank for getting them in. And even though Soul felt distinctly out of place, there was no way in hell he would be anywhere else.

 

“From what we can see, mostly a lot of fights with civilians. Seems like she has a nasty temper. Still, she clearly managed to blend in, since most people just assumed she was a DWMA student. But, as it turns out, she’s actually a witch.” 

 

Murmurs broke out almost immediately, Maka let out a sharp exhale next to him, and suddenly there was a whole new veil of tension around the room. Their worst suspicions were realized, and while no one was particularly  _ surprised, _ the gravity of the situation was clear. A witch had gotten onto city grounds, murdered Death’s personal weapon, and actually managed to escape. Such a thing, such a brutal, direct shot right into the core of the DWMA, hadn’t happened in what was probably decades. 

 

“Figures.” It was the first time Lord Death had spoken since the meeting had began, and he sounded incredibly curt.

 

“How did this happen?” Miss Azusa’s voice demanded from one mirrors. “I would think after Medusa we’d be much more careful about-”

 

“Don’t, Azusa.” Thanks to the angle of her mirror, Soul could see Miss Marie’s image much clearer than the others, specifically how her eyes were rimmed in red. 

 

“Don’t what?” Azusa snapped, her voice sounding somewhat shrill. “Don’t point out that, despite the kishin being unleashed, we’re still not being careful about who we let onto city grounds? Don’t point out that we let  _ a fucking witch _ get in and-”

 

“That’s  _ enough,”  _ Death cut her off, voice sharp.

 

“She does have a point, for once.” That was Stein, voice gravelly and sounding like absolute hell, and suddenly Soul remembered, very clearly, that he and Death Scythe had known each other since they were kids. “How the hell did no one notice that something was off about this girl? I thought we’ve been doing extra screenings on new arrivals. And furthermore, what about the security in Spirit’s building? No one noticed her coming in?”

 

“We  _ have _ been doing screenings,” Death said, shortly. “There’s a chance she somehow has a particularly strong Soul Protect, perhaps, or she somehow managed to acquire a fake identification. But other than that we have no idea how she managed to slip through the cracks. Or how she managed to get into the building.”

 

“Wasn’t the balcony door open?” Another voice from one of the mirrors that Soul didn’t recognize asked.

 

“Security still would have seen her going up the building,” Sid responded. “Unless they had somehow been compromised, something that we’re still looking into. Every officer who was working that night is being investigated, and until the investigation is over they’re not allowed to leave the city.”

 

“What about the security tapes?” Stein asked.

 

Sid looked grim. “Somebody managed to mess with the cameras to replace the footage with several film loops. The tapes don’t show anything from the view of Death Scythe’s balcony, or anything leading up to his front door, until a few minutes before she left. So for now we’re assuming she came in through the front and was planning on escaping through the balcony.”

 

“But the balcony door was already open before she left,” Azusa’s voice cut in again. “Why would it have already been open if she came in through the front? And how would she have messed with the footage?”

“Well, why was the footage in the lobby messed with too?” Sid shot back. 

“To throw you off trail, maybe? I doubt she was expecting Soul Eater to come in and catch her.”

“Maybe,” Death replied, thoughtfully. “There is also the question of how she got in through the front in the first place. The guards working that day all claimed they didn’t recognize her picture.”

“We might have found the answer to that, Father,” Kid’s voice cut in. “As it turns out, we’ve already had her in our records for a while.”

“Did we?”

“Yep,” Sid replied, grimly. “As it turns out, her mother was the witch Jana.”

Next to him, Maka gave out a sharp gasp at the name, and Lord Death and Stein both recoiled in clear surprise. More murmurs sounded around them, and when Soul turned towards Maka, her eyes were wide.

“You’re sure?” Stein demanded.

“Positive,” Kid said firmly.

“We even got ahold of a copy of her birth certificate to make sure,” Sid added. “Not to mention the manner of death is suspiciously similar to how Jana killed her victims. That’s why we even looked Jana up in the first place. Seems like we’re looking at a revenge case, here.”

“Well,” came a heavy Russian accent from one of the mirrors. “That makes things especially worse, doesn’t it?”

“Maka, what are they talking about?” Soul whispered.

Maka’s eyes had hardened, despite looking like someone had smacked her over the head. Her hand had clenched tight around Soul’s, and she spoke almost robotically. “The witch who Mama and Papa killed...the one whose soul he ate to become a Death Scythe. She was the Witch Jana.”

That revelation took a second to sink in, and once it did, Soul swallowed, his insides suddenly going cold.

Well,  _ fuck. _

“Her mother was known for her shapeshifting magic,” Kid went on. “They called her the stealer of faces, a master of misdirection. She could impersonate anybody at any time, and this allowed her to go from household to household, killing entire families and harvesting their souls for reasons we still haven’t figured out. Her face-stealing is the reason it took a very,  _ very _ long time for Death Scythe and his ex-wife to hunt her down. And this girl-”   
  


“Might have inherited her mother’s magic,” Death finished, with a deep, bitter sigh. “Well, that would certainly explain it if she did go through the lobby. Have you managed to track her down yet?” 

“We have,” Sid replied. “We don’t know how she got out of the city, but we found a train station twenty miles from here that sold her a ticket to Vegas. Which is probably gonna make things a bit harder, on that note.”

_ No kidding, _ was all Soul could think. Las Vegas wasn’t  _ technically  _ official witch territory, but it had one of the highest residential witch populations in the world. Tourists and people still went there en masse anyway, but everyone knew that going in there on official DWMA business was bound to cause tension with the locals, some agents even having been attacked in the past.

“Nevertheless, I’ll have a warrant ready by tomorrow to send a team after her.” Death glanced towards the mirrors, out at the people sitting in front of him. “Any objections?”

No one said a word.

“Then all we need to do is assign the mission.”

Almost immediately, Maka stood, chair giving a loud screech and causing everyone around her, including Lord Death, Stein, and everyone else standing at the projector, to give a start.

“I’m going,” She said, voice ringing loud and clear.

Stony silence. 

“Is that  _ Maka?”  _ Azusa’s voice squawked from the mirror. “What the hell is she doing in this meeting-”

Sid cleared his throat. “Maka… this girl is likely going to be a very powerful witch-”

Anger began to simmer in Maka’s expression, then. “Even better for Soul to eat, then.”

“I agree.” Stein leaned forward, and it was impossible to miss the small, manic gleam in his eye. “And I’d very much like to accompany her.”

“You’re not going,” Nygus’ voice cut in, sharply, stepping forward from where she had previously been silent at Sid’s side. 

“Why not?” Stein snarled at her. 

“Look at yourself, Stein. Your madness is starting to affect you again, and for this mission? It can’t. We have no idea what this girl is capable of, and you need to be at the top of your game.” Nygus turned a sharp, stern look towards Maka. “And you should be, too.”

“Thank you, Nygus,” Soul heard Azusa’s voice mutter.

“I’m fine!” Maka snapped.

Nygus crossed her arms. “I can think of a glaring reason why you wouldn’t be.”

“You don’t think she has a right to go?” Soul snapped, standing up next to Maka.

“I do. More than anyone in this room. But, you can’t let your emotions get the better of you. Annie Channon could easily manipulate that if she wanted to, and all I want to do is ensure you two- “ Nygus gestured at Stein and Maka with one finger. “Are in stable enough of a mind to be going on a mission this potentially dangerous. So I’m going to propose that before we do anything else, you two go under an evaluation to make sure you’re mentally sound,  _ or _ whether the madness is affecting you or not.”

Maka was visibly trying to reel her temper in, face red and eyes narrowed into slits, but Soul knew she all she wanted was a good, heavy book in her hands. “I understand you’re concerned, and I appreciate that. I do. But I’m  _ going. _ Whether you assign me this mission or not.”

“Maka,” Soul muttered under his breath, somewhat uneasily.

Nygus opened her mouth, likely to continue to protest, but one oversized hand waved in a motion to cut her off.

“Let her go.”

Nygus blinked up at Lord Death. “Sir?”

“I agree that Stein should be checked for signs of his madness beginning to emerge. If that is the case, he should stay back from the mission.” Stein opened his mouth, looking  _ furious _ , but Death shut him up with another wave of his hand. “Maka, however-”

“But-” Nygus started again.

Death cut her off again with one hand but otherwise ignored her, focusing straight on Soul. Despite not being able to see his eyes through the hollowed out holes in his mask (or even being sure if he even  _ had _ eyes, for that matter), Soul could feel his gaze piercing straight towards him.

“You’ll help her?” Death asked, quietly.

And immediately, Soul knew he didn’t just mean with the mission. He didn’t hesitate to respond with a sharp nod.

Lord Death turned to Maka, then, before giving her an affirming nod of his own. “Then I fully expect you two to give her hell. And if you do, her soul is all yours.”

“Sir,” Nygus protested, voice sounding strangely high-pitched.

Maka’s only response was level her chin at him, the fierce, dark gleam in her eyes hard to miss.

Then, suddenly, a flash of movement in the very, very far corner of Soul’s eye caught his attention.

It was brief, quick enough to create nothing but a vague blur, but for a split second Soul thought he caught a glimpse of red hair.

But when he whipped around, all while briefly wondering if he was hallucinating, there was nobody there.

“Now, Kiddo, I think I’ll have you accompany Maka- Soul? Is something wrong?”

“Nah.” He was probably just seeing things. That was it, he decided. He was exhausted, and everything that had happened was probably beginning to weigh on him a bit heavier. Maybe he should accept Blair’s offer for a cup of her weird, “sleepy-milky” tea as she called it, he thought. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Death turned towards Kid, who straightened up under his father’s gaze. “Now, as I was saying, I think I’ll have Kid and the Thompsons to accompany you, as they have experience in dealing with witch investigations-“

It didn’t seem like a big deal at the time. Especially when he had to focus on the mission that was being given out, the mission that was probably going to be the most grueling in his and Maka’s entire lives. 

So he chalked it up to his mind playing tricks on him due to all the shit that was going on, and called it that.

* * *

“Maka, wait up!”

He could see how every line in her body was tense, taut like a violin’s string, as she turned to face him. Her fists were clenched, her brows were drawn, she looked like she was staring down a kishin when she glared at him, and he couldn’t help but take a step back in a recoil once the dark, defiant tempest in her eyes was directed firmly at him. 

Okay, so clearly she was mad, but he had no idea  _ why _ . They were going on the mission, she got what she wanted-

“They really wanted me to stay behind,” She finally spat out. “They- they really thought I would just  _ stay back-”  _ She spat out the words like they were poison.

_ Oh. _

That was why.

“I know. It’s okay.”

“How could they do that?! Were they just going to send some stupid randie and hope for the best?! They were hoping I would stay behind, Soul, you saw them- ”

“Who cares what they want?”

“I have a right to go!” Her voice was so loud it echoed down the halls, where there were a few people that are trickling out from the meeting that gave them strange looks. “They know I have a right to go!”

“Maka. It’s fine. We’re going anyway.” He shot the stray passersby a dirty look, and they immediately ducked their heads and hurried on their way. “Look, I don’t agree with Nygus, but she was just worried. That’s literally her job, you can’t really blame her for that-”

“Like hell I can’t!” She snarled. “I have a  _ right, _ and she-”

“I know.” Soul sighed. “Look, Nygus doesn’t have the final say in who goes, Lord Death does. And Lord Death  _ knows _ , so we’re going. Calm down, okay?”

She just let out another frustrated, angry noise before swinging a foot forward and colliding it into a nearby trash can with a loud, angry slam, scattering papers and empty bottles everywhere.

Soul let himself press his lips together. He knew what she was doing- lashing out at pretty much everything she possibly could in order to vent out some of the jagged, emotional whirlpool that he knew was probably tearing her up on the insides. He wasn’t that familiar with the stages of grief, which all felt far too trivial anyway, but he knew anger when he saw it. Especially in Maka.

It was even harder because it had happened so  _ suddenly _ . Nobody had seen this coming. Soul certainly hadn’t been expecting to walk into Death Scythe’s kitchen and find him dead on the fucking ground.

_ (there had been so much blood, so much red-) _

If it had been on the battlefield, at the hands of a kishin, that would have been one thing, but Death Scythe had died in his  _ house. _ In the city they all called  _ home _ , that they all called  _ safe _ . But none of that had mattered in the end, had it? 

He’d been trying to give her time to recover from the shock of what had happened. He’d known when it had finally sunken in, because she had cried harder than he had ever seen her cry before.

_ (and it had broken his heart) _

But the shock was still there. So he’d wanted to give her time to regain her bearings, to find some way to ground herself. Despite the fact that there were now countless boxes of her father’s things sitting in their living room that she had yet to go through or even touch, despite the news on the TV talking about nothing but her father’s murder for a good three days, despite that there were now candles and flowers set up in the front of her father’s building that they saw every time they walked to school.

_ (a lot of it was because he had no idea what else to do) _

And that was a bad idea. He knew that, suddenly. It was  _ never _ a good idea to let her brood, especially when the mushrooms growing out of her head were more dark and poisonous than they had ever been before, and he felt like a giant idiot.

But he knew her. And there was that small comfort in that he knew her, he knew what made her tick, so maybe he could help her figure everything out.

Maybe.

“It’s just- Nygus and Sid- they’ve known Papa-” the last name came out cracked. “-since they were  _ kids _ . I’d thought they’d  _ understand.” _

“I don’t know.”  _ Maybe they just don’t want anything to happen to you too. _ “But we’re going. It doesn’t matter what they think, we’re going. Okay?”

“I guess,” she replied, hollowly.

Soul swallowed, because he could feel a distance, a wall he wasn’t used to. 

Maka Albarn had always been an open book to him, but suddenly she was shutting herself off. Pulling away, from him, from everyone, deeper and deeper away all on her own. He’d never seen her so bad, even in her worst moments, and all he wanted to do was reach out a hand. To pull her back, or maybe just so that he could join her so that she wouldn’t be alone.

Which is why he stepped forward to pull her into his arms, something that had been a long time coming at that point.

She stiffened a little at first. That was hard to miss, and resulted in a sharp pang in his chest. But thankfully, it wasn’t long before she had relaxed into his embrace, pulling him closer to her until they were entwined close enough that he could feel her heartbeat.

They stood there for what felt like a long time as he breathed her in, the scent of her clothes and hair and skin, as he let himself stroke one hand against her back to maybe help ease that tension. Because he needed that, too. Needed to feel the tension and silence that had been defining her all week dissipate, if only for a small moment. Needed simply to hear her  _ breathe, _ in all honesty _. _

_ (Because he knew then that monsters and enemies could lurk around in every corner, ready to strike and take another victim, maybe even another Albarn-) _

“Soul.” Her voice cracked a little again, muffled, when she finally spoke.

“It’s okay.”

_ It’s not, _ singsonged a little voice in his head. He gritted his teeth in response, and held her even tighter.

_ Come back,  _ he wanted to say to her.  _ Come back. Please. _

“We’re gonna find her,” is what he said instead. “And we’re gonna give her what she deserves.”

_ Don’t let her brood again, don’t let her fucking brood you idiot, keep her close _

_ Keep her close. _

* * *

He stood in a familiar, red-draped room with a familiar checkered floor, next to a familiar black ivory piano.

Not much had changed, but it still felt much different than it once did. Ever since he had consumed the Little Demon, the drapes had been pulled back to let streams of pale golden sunlight in, as warm as his meister’s soul, to illuminate the room and the framed snapshots of the happiest moments of his life hanging on the wall. 

But the sunlight was visibly overcast, then, and the room was darker than it had been ever since they’d beaten the Kishin.

“Well, it’s certainly been a downer several days for you, hasn’t it?” a familiar voice sneered.

Speak of the devil. Literally.

“I was wondering when you’d pop up.” Soul turned to scowl at the red demon grinning at him from behind the surface of the wide, frameless mirror positioned in the far corner of the room. 

The mirror was the only other major change, and from what Soul could tell, it was basically just a modified cell designed to hold the madness back. But it had just enough ability to  _ break _ to disallow Soul from  _ ever _ forgetting its presence.  

“Ah, well, grief is a terrible, terrible thing.” The demon pressed its face against the surface of the glass, grin wider and more terrible than it had been in what felt like a very, very long time. One of its long, gnarled fingers began to slowly tap against the surface.  _ Tap. Tap.  _ “I haven’t seen you and Miss Albarn in such a state in...well, since the apocalypse was right around the corner.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Soul said wryly. “So, what cryptic words of wisdom are you going to spout today?”

“Am I really that predictable?”  _ Tap. Tap. Tap. _ “Well, at least you’re  _ aware _ of how much fear is brewing in your soul right now. I can’t particularly say the same for your meister, if the lack of sunlight is any indication.”

Soul‘s jaw clenched so hard it was almost painful. “If you’re doing something to affect her somehow, I _ swear-” _

“Aw, come now, you and I both know you would never let me do such a thing. You’re too content to let me wither away in here, trapped in a tragic life as a parlor trick.”  _ Tap. Tap.  _ “But, at least I’ll have a front-row seat to this tragedy. I’m just  _ dying _ to see how things will play out.”

“You’re  _ not _ going to mess things up. You hear me?”

“Don’t you worry. I’m sure you three will do that perfectly fine for me.”

Soul blinked, not sure if he heard that right. “Wait- ‘us three’?”

“Ah, that’s right.” The little demon’s smile grew wider. “You haven’t yet noticed that we have another visitor. Or, at least we will, in the near future.”

Soul narrowed his eyes at it, trying to ignore the unease brewing in the pit of his stomach because  _ that _ didn’t sound a bad thing at all.“Another visi- what the  _ hell _ are you talking about?”

_ “Ah ah ah, _ I can’t just give out spoilers.” The demon wiggled its finger at him like he was scolding a small child. 

“Knock it off,” Soul snapped. “I don’t have time for your crap-”

“I know, I know, it’s going to be a very busy time for you, with babysitting Miss Albarn and all.” The demon leered at him. “Maybe that’ll give you a distraction from how this whole episode is affecting you- you were the one who found her dad, after all. Though maybe you would have found him alive as planned if you had gone ahead and showed up earlier-”

“I said knock it  _ off,” _ Soul repeated more vehemently, though he couldn’t ignore how something in him recoiled at the words  _ (because it was those words that had been twisting in his mind ever since it happened, that maybe if he had shown up  _ **_earlier-)_ **

“Oh, I get he was being annoying, but in the grand scheme of things there’s a chance he’d be alive right now-”

_ “It doesn’t matter!” _ Soul snapped, before taking a deep breath and forcing his temper down. It didn’t matter whether the little shit was a part of him, talking to it was always going to give him a headache. “It doesn’t matter. Maka’s the one who lost her father. It doesn’t matter how I feel.”

The demon held his gaze, unblinking and unfazed. 

Then, it smirked. 

“Oh yes. This is going to be  _ fun.” _

 

* * *

 

Soul’s reflection caught his gaze as he stood hunched over the bathroom sink. His eyes looked wide and terrified, so he straightened up and tried to narrow them, to stare himself down.

It didn’t work, naturally. If anything, it just made him feel kind of dumb, and the feeling sank down to join the messy cesspool of emotions whirling around in his gut.

His eyes flickered downward again, away from the accusing eyes of his own reflection to stare down at his hands. The crushing weight that had been looming over him for the past week felt a heavier, then. Probably because it was four in the morning, and he was tired. Tired of feeling like he was having a hard time breathing late at nights when he was alone, tired of his rare hours of sleep being invaded by nightmares bad enough that he woke up with screams stuck in his throat, something that hadn’t been as bad since after their first ill-fated encounter with Crona. 

At that moment, bleary-eyed, completely exhausted if not for the tight ball of panic in his throat and the slight trembling of his hands, he just wanted to sleep. He didn’t want to think about the upcoming mission, or a body lying dead on a kitchen floor, or the fact that he should probably check once more time that the door was locked…

He stood at that sink for a long time, droopy eyes and all, and just let himself breathe. Let himself acknowledge the weight that had been hovering over him. 

No one was around to see, anyway. He would have to build himself back up by morning, before Maka could see him, but in that moment no one was around to see how he trembled, and Soul told himself that he was fine with that.

It felt like an eternity before he finally mustered up the energy to straighten up, turning to flip off the bathroom lights and trudge back to his bedroom, thinking maybe he pull on his headphones and play some music to help him sleep, and if that didn’t work he would probably just go downstairs and carefully step around the boxes of Death Scythe’s things to watch TV until the sun came up-

_ “And if that mockingbird don’t sing, Papa’s gonna buy you a diamond ring-” _

Soul froze in his tracks.

_ “And if that diamond ring turns brass, Papa’s gonna buy you a looking glass-” _

He was ninety percent sure he was hearing things. His mind flashed to when he had been thrashing frantically in a hospital bed, trapped in what felt like a cold, narrow well of grasping hands and screaming voices, clinging to Maka’s hand like a lifeline-

_ “And if that looking glass gets broke-” _

But the soft, barely-there voice coming from down the hall, through the cracked door that led to Maka’s bedroom, sounded as clear as day. 

It felt like something out of a dream as he crept down the hall, towards Maka’s door, because he felt like his brain was short-circuiting and there was no way he was actually hearing what he was hearing, even though the song was only getting louder and louder.

He peeked through the cracked door.

_ “Papa’s gonna buy you a billy goat-” _

He felt like a deer in headlights as he stared at the man sitting at the edge of Maka’s bed, voice low and soft as he sang.

Except it wasn’t a man. It was a phantom, faded and translucent enough that Soul can see the wall behind him. It looked just like Death Scythe, same hair, same facial features - eyes, nose, mouth that all looked strikingly similar to Maka’s at times. He was missing his usual coat and tie, but other than that he looked the exact image of Maka’s father.

But the main difference between the specter in front of him and the real Death Scythe was that Soul had seen the real one rolled out in a  _ body bag. _

_ “-And if that cart and bull turn over, Papa’s gonna buy you a dog named Rover-” _

One ghostly, translucent hand came up to stroke at a stray lock of hair from Maka’s forehead. Soul watched, completely numb and frozen in place, as Maka shivered a little in her sleep, but otherwise didn’t stir.

_ “And if that dog named Rover won’t bark, Papa’s gonna buy you a horse and cart, _

_ And if that horse and cart fall down, you’ll still be the prettiest baby in town.” _

The apparition’s voice wavered a little as the song came to an end, and for a second it did nothing but watch his daughter sleep. Soul felt himself reel back from the doorway, his back hitting the adjacent wall with a soft thump. His body struggled in vain to catch up with his mind, not helped by the fact that he was sleep-deprived and not at all thinking straight.

And then, suddenly, there was a soft  _ whoosh _ as Death Scythe winked into existence right in front of him, and Soul damn near shrieked.

“You better not be thinking about doing anything weird, you little punk,” Death Scythe  _ (no, not Death Scythe, it  _ **_couldn’t_ ** _ be Death Scythe-)  _ muttered, hunching over pathetically and glowering. He wasn’t wearing any shoes, Soul noticed, and they stood out looking weird and pale and vulnerable against the dark carpet. “Lurking outside her door like that.”

Except he wasn’t looking at him. He was ranting to Soul like he didn’t think Soul could hear him. At least, until he realized that Soul was staring right at him.

For a split second, Soul held his gaze, and Death Scythe’s eyes widened.

“Soul?” Death Scythe  _ (but it  _ **_couldn’t_ ** _ be Death Scythe, Death Scythe had been a bloody body on the ground, he was  _ **_dead_ ** _ , there was no way-)  _ breathed, causing a sharp, rust-tinted smell of blood to waft through the air that made Soul’s stomach roil. The image in front of him flickered enough that he could see the red staining the man’s face, pouring through his lips and the gaping hole in his chest, blooming in a dark blemish against pale blue mist. “Wait, can-  _ can you see me?” _

If he could go back, he would have said something. Or at least smacked his past self enough for him to snap out of his horrified trance and abject denial and actually respond in some way, any way. It would have been ten times better than what he actually did.

He launched himself forward, barrelling down the hallway and through his bedroom door, flinging himself into his bed and burying himself into his mattress, his covers, as he dissolved into the most frantic panic attack he’d ever had since he was six years old.

_ I’m hallucinating, I’m hallucinating, I have to be hallucinating, the Little Demon is probably laughing his ass off right now, maybe if I ignore it it’ll go away- _

But it wasn’t long before he heard another whoosh and felt a cold gush of air on his shoulder.

“Soul,” Death Scythe’s voice demanded pleadingly, and for the second time that night, he almost shrieked. “Kid, Punk, Stegosaurus Head, if you can see me, say something. Say something, please,  _ say something...” _

He was swimming desperately against the tides of panic, because it sounded  _ real _ . It didn’t sound like a hallucination, it sounded like his meister’s dead father, who had been  _ murdered,  _ who he’d  _ seen _ after he’d been murdered, standing over his bedside, pleading desperately into his ear.

His words, everything he wanted to say  _ (you’re dead, I saw you, you’re dead, people have been mourning you,  _ **_Maka’s_ ** _ been mourning you, you’re  _ **_dead-_ ** _ ) _ were lodged in his throat and he couldn’t get them out no matter how much he tried. His mind was reeling, his body wasn’t responding, he was frozen in place and desperately trying to process the fact that  _ his meister’s dead father was standing over his bedside, _ pleading in his ear…

“Alright.”

The word came suddenly, in a soft, defeated whisper. 

“I guess you can’t then.” There was a bitterness in the voice that was hard to miss. “I should have probably known better.”

After that it was silent. Soul’s heart was ramming desperately in his chest hard enough that he could feel his pulse in his fingertips, in the trembling of his limbs.

It was a long time, or at least, it felt like a long time before enough of the panic finally trickled away for him to finally sit up.

He was greeted only with the sight of his dark room.

Soul took in several deep, shaky breaths as his thoughts slowly started to rearrange themselves back into calm (well,  _ calmer _ ) rationality. For a second, he could almost convince himself that what had happened had been a dream. Or, a hallucination.

But it had happened. 

It had  _ happened. _

_ Fucking hell. _


	3. white satin and colored glass

“You’re really gonna go to Vegas alone?”

 

Blair was wrapped in nothing but a towel as she sat on Soul’s bed, ears pressed flat and the worry in her eyes clear as day.

 

“We’ll be fine,” Soul replied, tossing a rolled-up shirt into his travel backpack.

 

She was clearly not convinced. “Is Professor Stitches or one of the other academy people going with you?”

 

Soul winced. Maka had told him that she had gotten a call that morning to be informed that Stein had, apparently, failed whatever madness test Nygus had made him take and had been restricted from leaving his house until it was determined that he was in the right state of mind to join them on the mission. And considering he’d ended up with Medusa the last time his madness had taken over, Soul couldn’t _really_ blame Lord Death for that decision.

 

“No, Stein’s not,” is all he said in response, however. “But Kid, the Thompsons, Black Star, Tsubaki, and Crona are tagging along, so it’s not like we won’t have backup.”

 

He saw how she bit her lower lip, before standing and heading out his door.

 

“Be right back,” is all she said before she’d disappeared down the hallway.

 

Soul stared down at the wrinkled, balled-up contents of his backpack. Maka’s voice rang in his head, nagging at him to fold his clothes properly, but his mind was so, so far away it was a bit hard to really care.

 

As a grim sort of reminder, the pitch-black suit he’d rented felt like it was taunting him from where it hung off the knobs of his dresser. He’d be wearing that in less than a few hours for Death Scythe’s funeral, before getting on a train to leave to track down Death Scythe’s murderer.  And the previous night, he’d managed to work through the shock enough to confirm to himself (at least, kind of) that he’d seen Death Scythe’s ghost.

 

He hadn’t slept a wink the night before. When Maka had come out of her room for the first time in days to eat breakfast at the table with him, she kept asking him why he looked so jumpy, and Soul had literally _no idea_ how to tell her that her recently murdered father had been in her room last night. Mainly because he was still sort of trying to process it himself.

 

 _(It didn’t help that he’d been the one to find the body, that he’d_ **_seen_ ** _the limp limbs, the pool of blood, god, the_ **_blood-)_ **

 

And in hindsight, maybe that was stupid of him. After all, ghosts probably weren’t exactly the craziest thing that existed in the world they lived in. Hell, Soul had vaguely remembered a lecture that Sid gave back when he was still alive, talking about how sometimes souls lingered on after death. And he also remembered Liz talking feverishly about a ghost girl she had encountered on one of her missions with Kid and Patty. So maybe the vat of bullshit he was currently dealing with shouldn’t have been too much of a surprise, the fact that it was _Maka’s dad_ that was the ghost apparently haunting him notwithstanding.

 

But if that was the case, he’d thought, why was it that no one else had noticed that Death Scythe was still around? Unless Soul really had lost his mind, he would assume that, dead or not, _somebody_ with soul perception should be able to sense him, never mind see that he was still around. At the very least, _Lord Death_ should have been able to.

 

( _“Can you see me?”)_

 

Right?

 

He had no idea what to do, who he should possibly bring this up to. Not to Maka, probably. At least, not yet. He didn’t want to lie to her, but telling her didn’t feel quite right, given how weight she was carrying, how hard she had been to predict lately.

 

So Kid, maybe? Lord Death, as soon as the funeral was over? The fact that he still wasn’t even _completely_ sure that he hadn’t lost his mind only made him feel more at loss, along with the fact that he'd experienced nothing even slightly out of the ordinary since the previous night. For all he knew, it had all been just a fucked-up dream. Hell, for all he knew, Death Scythe had already moseyed on along to the ghost realm or whatever afterlife that was in store for him after coming to the conclusion that Soul couldn’t see him.

 

But he had a nagging feeling that wasn’t the case, and at that point he liked to say that his gut instincts were pretty good. But this only made him feel more frantic, more nervous, and more at a loss of what to do.

 

The soft padding of footsteps that alerted him to Blair’s return made him jump at first, before he turned to face her and she pressed what looked like on first glance a carved piece of glass strung on a cord into his hand.

 

“Take this.”

 

“What is it?” Soul opened his palm to reveal what looked like a glittering, pumpkin-shaped vial, so small that it looked like a charm strung on a string-like brown cord. Something inside it glittered, and when he held it up to the light he could see what looked like a pocket of glimmering, rolling smoke inside it. Like a miniature tornado, trapped in a bottle.

 

“Just in case,” Blair answered. “If you’re ever in a tight spot, if a particularly nasty beastie has you pinned down, or even if the witch you’re chasing is giving you a hard time, just throw this like a grenade and it should help take care of whatever’s got you pinned down.”

 

“Thanks.” Soul took it obediently and went ahead and strung it around his neck, though he did so somewhat carefully. Last time he’d tried using one of Blair’s “gifts”, it had caused every four-legged animal, from cats to dogs to squirrels to raccoons, to flock to him in packs and try to hump his leg. But given the gravity in her tone, maybe this time it would do something more useful. And preferably less mentally scarring, on that note.

 

“Just use it wisely. It’s packs a helluva punch.”

 

“I will. Thanks, Blair.”

 

Blair pulled him into a hug then, so suddenly and fiercely he wouldn’t have been surprised if he had gotten whiplash.

 

“I’m worried about you two, kitten,” she murmured. “Promise me you guys’ll be careful, okay?”

 

Just for a second, Soul let himself relax into Blair’s embrace, turning his head sideways enough that he wouldn’t be suffocated by her bust. If only because it made some of the tightly coiled tension that had been residing in his chest unwind, just a bit.

 

“I will,” he mumbled.

 

* * *

 

Death Scythe’s funeral was held at a small, old church with massive stained glass windows on the far edge of Hook’s Cemetery, though not far enough that Soul couldn’t see Stein’s lab on the horizon sticking out like a sore thumb.

 

Soul hadn’t been to a funeral since he was five years old and his great grandmother died, but it looked pretty similar. Cluster after cluster of black-clad people milled about in front of the closed-off doors of the rickety old church, talking in hushed murmurs like they were afraid of disturbing the dead. As they got closer, Soul could see that some of them were flanked by Two-Star security guards, who also seemed to orbiting around the perimeter of the place with unfriendly expressions and radios clipped to their belts, eyes sharply drifting through the crowd to pick out any possible threat.

 

“Soul?”  


Maka’s hand was light in his, and her questioning look felt piercing. Her black knee-length dress cinched tightly around her waist and made her younger than she actually was, especially when coupled with the bouquet of flowers she held gingerly in one arm. Next to her, Blair stood in a sleek, form-fitting black pantsuit, matching Maka’s questioning gaze almost perfectly.

 

“Yeah?” He responded.

 

“You’ve been acting really weird today,” Maka said, slowly. She was staring at him in the quizzical, calculating way she did sometimes when she was trying to figure out a particularly troubling puzzle. “Are you okay?”

 

He wanted to tell her. He really, really did, but it didn’t feel like the time. “I’m okay.”

 

She didn’t look convinced. “Liar.”

 

“Later.” He squeezed her hand. “Later. Are _you_ okay?”

 

She gnawed at her lower lip with her teeth. “Yeah.”

 

“Liar.”  


Eyes glimmering more than usual, she let go of Soul’s hand to wipe at them quickly, before he could really see. “I’m okay, alright Soul? Let’s just get this over with.”

 

Feeling somewhat helpless, Soul just nodded, and took her hand again.

 

* * *

 

Despite the crowd of people, it wasn’t long before they found a familiar face, though it wasn’t the one that Soul expected.

 

“Mama?” Maka’s voice cracked on the word.

 

The woman in question turned to face her daughter before her eyes softened, and before Soul could even blink she had made her way over to them to catch Maka when she lunged at her, a slender, pale hand coming up to slowly stroke through strands of blonde hair.

 

“Maka,” She said, softly. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

 

Soul had only met Maka’s infamous mother once, back when her and Death Scythe had still been married and were starting to get a divorce, but he still recognized her thanks in part to the few photographs. He hadn’t exactly expected her to show up, but he couldn’t help but feel relieved that she had. Maka had been trying to call her since it had happened, and while he was somewhat peeved on Maka’s behalf that she hadn’t called back at all, he was still glad she had at least came back.

 

“When did you get here?” Maka’s voice cracked again, and her eyes were teary when she peered back up at her mother.

 

“Only this morning. My phone got wrecked back in Dublin, so I didn’t get the news until two days ago.”

 

Maka’s nodded, eyes flickering over her mother’s shoulder to meet his, and he gave her a nod, thinking maybe he should grab Blair and leave them catch up for a bit. But instead, Maka stepped away and towards him to reach out and take his sleeve, pulling him to her and her mother.

 

“Mama, you remember Soul, right?” Maka asked, free hand coming up to scrub at her eyes once again.

 

“Of course.” Piercing dark eyes focused on him like a microscope, sizing him up like they were picking out every detail. “Evans?”

 

“Eater,” he corrected.

 

“Right.” Her eyes flickered over to where Blair stood and narrowed ever so slightly. “And who’s this?”

 

“Blair the cat, Miss.” Blair stuck her hand out to the former Mrs. Albarn, giving her a genuinely warm smile. “It’s great to meet you. Maka talks about you a lot.”

 

Kami’s eyes narrowed even further, clearly sizing Blair up. “I see. Did you know my former husband as well?”

 

It sounded like a simple, casual question, if it wasn’t for her cold expression. It too a second for it to hit Soul what exactly Maka’s mother was seeing- Blair, curvy and cute Blair, exactly Death Scythe’s type, standing with her daughter and her daughter’s partner.

 

_Oh crap._

 

Blair blinked, looking taken off guard. “Yeah, we were friends.”

 

The other woman’s expression turned sour, lips pursing and glare sharpening. “Hm.”

 

“Blair lives with me and Soul, Mama,” Maka said, quickly, glancing between her mother and Blair with a brief, visible flash of alarm. “She’s been looking after us.”

 

That only seemed to make things worse, as her mother’s glare turned downright frosty. “I see,” She repeated, in a tone that could only come from something raw, something that came from years of hurt, from being repeatedly snubbed and betrayed at the expense of conventionally attractive women.

 

Meanwhile, Blair’s previous warm expression had cooled significantly and her chin had turned up haughtily despite the flash of hurt that had flashed in her expression, but, thankfully, and likely for Maka’ sake, she kept her mouth shut. Instead, she lightly gave Maka a pat on the back.

 

“I’ll leave you to catch up with your mama, kitten,” She said, a bit too airily. “I’ll meet you two inside when it starts.”

 

Maka frowned hesitantly, but after glancing at her mama she gave Blair a nod, and Blair took her leave.

 

He should have known better than to think Maka would let it go, however. “Mama, Blair’s not-”

 

“Have you been doing alright, Maka?” Her mother cut her off.

 

Maka’s expression tightened. “Please don’t be like this. Not now.”

 

“I’m not, sweetie.”

 

“Mama, _it doesn’t matter anymore,”_ Maka snapped, voice cracking.

 

Silence. Her mother’s lips had flattened, eyes suddenly everywhere but towards her daughter. Who had suddenly snapped her mouth shut, and looked ready to start crying all over again.

 

Because it _did_ matter, and they all knew it.

 

“Mama,” Maka began again, voice wobbling. "I'm sorry, I didn't-"

 

“Oi! There you guys are.”

 

Soul jumped, not even recognizing the voice at first since it wasn’t over a hundred decibels, but when he turned there Black Star was, Tsubaki and Crona in tow, all clad in black and wearing grim expressions.

 

“Jeez, it took forever to find you two-” Black Star blinked at Maka’s mother, surprise clear on his face. “Hey Maka, your mom’s here!”

 

Maka sighed, quickly turning away from them and hanging her head low to scrub at her eyes again. “I know, Black Star.”

 

“This is your mom?” Crona asked, eyes going wide. If they and the others noticed the tension, nobody said, much to Soul's immense relief.

 

“Yeah." Maka straightened up, giving a smile that seemed far too strained. Mama, this is Crona, and you remember Tsubaki right?”

 

“Hello,” Tsubaki said, smiling somewhat shyly.   


“I do.” Kami gave a smile towards Tsubaki, before reaching out her hand to Crona. “Nice to meet you, Crona.”

 

“You too, Mrs. Albarn,” Crona said dutifully, taking the offered handshake.

 

She gave them a strained smile. “Just call me Kami. I haven’t been Mrs. Albarn for a while now.”

 

Crona turned pink. “O-oh, I’m sorry-”

 

Thankfully, before anything else could add onto the utterly heaping pile of tension, the doors to the church finally opened, revealing a black-clad Azusa Yumi flanked by a pair of Two-Star agents and holding a stack of papers. As soon as she cleared her throat, the silent, hushed conversations around them cut off almost immediately.

 

“Hello everyone,” She called, voice crisp and sharp and business-like. “Thank you for being here. Please file in respectfully, the viewing will begin shortly.”

 

There was a flurry of movement around them towards the doors, and the hum of multiple murmurs began to sound again.

 

The flash of red out of the corner of his eye made him jump, whip around, only to see that it was just a man in the most obnoxious shirt Soul had ever seen at a funeral.

 

He forcibly had to remind himself to relax, to calm down already because he couldn’t be looking like a deer in headlights throughout the funeral. Even if Death Scythe _did_ decide to crash his own funeral (which, considering how things had been going so far, a part of him hoped he wouldn’t).

 

Still, as streams of people flooded through the doors of the church, the possibility was beginning to look increasingly daunting.

 

“S’cuse me,” He heard Black Star say, before practically materializing next to Maka and throwing an arm over her shoulders, muttering something that Soul couldn’t hear before whisking her off to follow the crowd. Maka’s mother and Crona were quick to trail behind them, leaving Tsubaki in the back with Soul.

 

“Hey,” Tsubaki greeted him, as they started off after the others.

 

“Hey,” He mumbled back.

 

“How’ve things been?”

 

He shrugged, suddenly feeling somewhat helpless, because what the hell was he supposed to say? “They’ve been, I guess.”

 

He saw her worry her lower lip, look pensive. “Is Maka doing any better?” She asked, soft enough so only he could hear.

 

Soul had no idea how to respond. _I don’t think so_ and _I honestly have no idea_ stung too sharply on his tongue to even speak aloud.

 

So he settled with a shrug. “I’m just looking forward to going after that girl,” Is what he said instead.

 

Tsubaki sighed. “Me too. And I know Black Star is too. It’s just...everything's just so messed up.”

 

 _Understatement of the century goes to Tsubaki._ “Yeah. I know.”

 

She put an arm around his shoulder then, much like her meister had done to his. When he glanced up at her, she graced him with a soft, almost sad reassuring smile.

 

“Are _you_ doing okay?” She asked, softly.

 

The question caused an unexpected lump his throat, one that he had to swallow down with every stubborn bone in his body. In the back of his mind, he could see the reflected grin of the little demon, cracked into fragments.

 

“I’m okay,” He lied. “But thanks.”

 

* * *

  

Giant stained-glass windows dominated the interior of the church, the different colored glass casting multicolored rays of light over the rows of pews, flower arrangements, and Two-Star guards lined up along the church walls and entrances, expressions blank and hidden behind shiny black glasses. They especially seemed congregated around a single pew in front, populated about ten figures of varying sizes. He could see Stein hunched over on the far end, Marie next to him, a man wearing what looked like a black rabbit head talking quietly to Justin Law, who was sitting next to a man with head wraps…

 

With a jolt, he realized that he was looking the Death Scythes. All of them, from the looks of it, including Sid and Nygus and Stein. If it were any other circumstances, he would probably be shitting his pants in excitement.

 

They’d filed in like they were on an assembly line, and had ended up right in front by the rose-covered casket in a the section roped off specifically for family members. And as more and more people filed in, it seemed like Maka was the only one who really fit the qualification, leaving plenty of room for him, Black Star, Tsubaki, Crona, and Blair to fill out around Maka, practically flanking around her. There were a few whispers as Kami took a seat right behind Maka, whispers that she either didn’t hear or chose to ignore, because neither her or her daughter reacted.

 

Maka had never really talked about her dad’s side of the family, which had never really made him wonder until then. He hadn’t really been thinking about whether or not he’d see some of Maka’s relatives, but the fact that Maka seemed to be Death Scythe’s only surviving family surprised him somewhat. It made him feel somewhat awkward, sitting in a seat meant for family members, but the feeling was surprisingly easy to dismiss when Maka took his hand in an iron grip.

 

When he looked at her, he saw her gaze fixed on the pale casket in front of him. Though the lid was open, Soul couldn’t see the inside. Which, he wasn’t really complaining about. His insides squirmed a little at the thought of seeing Death Scythe’s dead body (again), and he wished that Lord Death, who had personally planned the funeral in order to “take some of the weight” off of Maka, hadn’t opted to make the funeral open casket.

 

“You okay?” He whispered.

 

Her jaw was set. She looked like they were about to go into battle, sliding a mask and armor into place. “Don’t let go of my hand, okay?”

 

It sounded almost like a command. But what else was he good at if not obeying her?

 

“I won’t.”

 

Soon enough, as the organ music cued up, Maka went ahead and stood, bouquet of flowers in one hand and and clutching fiercely to Soul’s hand with the other. Quietly, they made their way up to the casket, the first in a procession of mourners.

 

Soul could feel all the eyes on them, and the stray whispers coming behind them sounded almost magnified. For Maka’s sake, he stomped down the discomfort rolling around in his gut, focusing instead on gripping her hand in his before bracing himself to peer into the casket.

 

Death Scythe looked surprisingly peaceful, if much paler than in life. It was eerie, seeing him lying there amidst white velvet, hands on his chest and surrounded by white roses and lilies. The gaping wound that had killed him _(he remembered how it looked far too well, remembered how it looked like someone had hooked something all the way through his chest and yanked it out from behind, remembered how black and empty and gushing with blood it had looked)_ was effectively concealed and covered by a pristine-looking black suit, not unlike the one Soul had seen him wear every day. It was more eerie than seeing Death Scythe’s ghost, and Soul did his best to quell the uncomfortable feeling trickling down his spine, if only for his meister standing next to him.

 

He did what he was expected to do though- bowed his head, paid his respects.

 

_Please, for the love of everything sacred, make sure his soul is where it’s supposed to be, safe and sound and no where around here. Amen._

 

Then, when he was done, he glanced over at Maka.

 

Maka stared down into the casket as though she was in a trance, almost disbelievingly. The glimmer in her eyes was back, and the hand clutching her bouquet was starting to tremble.

 

Soul gave her cold, thin little fingers a squeeze, which seemed to jolt her back to awareness. Almost robotically, she placed her bouquet into the casket.

 

For what felt like an eternity, she just stood there, as if frozen into place. Her hand hovered near her father’s, so close it looked as though her fingers were grazing his sleeve.

 

It was like watching a dam start to break. Soul watched helplessly as reality slowly sunk in, crippling Maka under it’s weight. Watched as Maka’s lip trembled, as the shine in her eyes began to pool, trickle down her cheeks, as her frame started to shudder as she stood over her father’s coffin.

 

The mask had cracked. It hadn’t even lasted that long.

 

Silently, he braced gentle hands on her shoulders as she covered her mouth with one hand and turned away from the casket. He heard her let out a sob as he gently guided her back to their seats.

 

“It’s okay,” Soul murmured, easing her down back into her seat.

 

She was visibly trying to reign herself in. He wasn’t sure if it was because there were so many people in the room with them, or if she was just continuing her recent habit of refusing to acknowledge her grief.

 

 _Just cry,_ Soul wanted to say. _Just cry, get it out. It’s_ **_okay._ **

 

But she didn’t. She covered her face with her hands, head bent down. When she finally lifted her head, her face was a splotchy red and she was wiping feverishly at her eyes.

 

“It’s okay,” Soul repeated again, gentler this time.

 

Behind them, Blair leaned forward to gently rub her shoulders, and from the other side of Maka, Kami reached over to take her hand. Maka slumped a little further down into her seat, but otherwise didn’t react.

 

When he finally turned towards the front of the church again, he was greeted with the sight of the misty form of Spirit Albarn standing over his own casket.

 

It was even stranger seeing him in the light of day. The dim candlelights and the light reflected from the stained glass looked like it faded right through him. Even stranger was the fact that he was standing over his body, which was probably the trippiest (and positively freakiest) thing that Soul had ever seen.

 

Death Scythe was just staring down into his casket. The expression on his face was a mix of bewilderment, disbelief, maybe even a bit of panic. He looked like someone had just clobbered him over the head, stunned and not quite sure what was happening.

 

Soul waited for someone to say something. He waited for Maka to notice what was happening, for her eyes to widen in disbelief. For a shout or a shriek to come from the onlookers, for someone, _anyone_ to react.

 

Instead, Stein and Marie came up hand-in-hand, just like he and Maka had been, to place bouquets of yellow roses into the casket. Stein took even longer at the casket than Maka did, expression concealed by the downcast tilt of his head, and Marie’s lip was visibly wobbling when they finally turned to sit back down. They breezed right past Death Scythe, who stared after them with the most helpless kicked-puppy look Soul had ever seen.

 

One by one, more people trickled up- Sid, Azusa, Nygus, Justin, the rest of the Death Scythes, Kid and the Thompsons. Black Star somehow made the pew scrape loudly against the floor when he and Tsubaki got up for their turn, which Kami was sure to adjust when it was hers. Soul didn’t miss how Death Scythe’s eyes widened the second he saw her, or how he watched her as she bent her head over his casket.

 

But nobody, not a single person, acknowledged Death Scythe’s presence.

 

By then, Maka’s head had gone to rest on his shoulder, which had somewhat snapped him out of his semi-horrified trance long enough to sling an arm around her shoulders to hold her close.

 

When Lord Death finally made his appearance, Death Scythe visibly perked up, immediately moved into his path as he floated over towards the casket.

 

“Lord Death-!”

 

Lord Death went right through him.

 

Death Scythe’s body completely dissipated, only reforming once Death had passed him, eyes wide and stunned.

 

The only indication that anything was amiss at all was in the brief second that Lord Death stopped, looking as though he was just blinking for a second under his mask. But the pause only lasted for a half a second, and he just went on his way.

 

Leaving Death Scythe to watch, shoulders slumped and lower lip beginning to quiver as Lord Death took a second to place another bouquet of roses into his coffin. Soul thought he caught the god murmuring something, but it was so quiet and hard to make out it was hard to say if he had really said anything at all.

 

Then, Death headed up to the podium, behind the casket, taking a second to tap the mic before he began speaking.

 

“Hey hey, everybody.” The greeting was a far cry from his usual cheerful, high-pitched greeting. “Thank you all for coming.”

 

By then, Soul’s heart had started to pound in his chest.

 

So nobody could see Death Scythe but him. Nobody could sense his soul, not even Lord Death. And if that had been the end of it, he would have dismissed what was in front of him, and had made a beeline to Nygus’ office to take that madness test for himself. But it was the fact that Lord Death had stopped that was the most convincing. The pause had been brief, but he sure as hell hadn’t imagined it, Lord Death had sensed _something_ , something that was off, but probably not strongly enough for him to take any mind-

 

Meaning, maybe, just maybe Soul hadn’t completely lost his marbles.

 

“You know, I’ve been alive for centuries. It’s one of the downsides of being immortal, really.” Death’s voice was wry, lilted. “I’ve witnessed countless generations be born, grow old, die, and repeat. It’s something I’ve grown mostly used to over the years. Which is somewhat cold of me, I know, but death is the inevitable product of life, especially for mortals. It’s a cycle, one that I couldn’t change even if I tried.”

 

He had to get Death Scythe’s attention somehow. Get him to realize that yes, Soul could in fact see him. But he knew he had to do it carefully, and without anyone noticing. The last thing he wanted to do was cause a spectacle.

 

“But there are certain people whose passings leave a heavy feeling in my heart. Spirit Albarn, known to many of you simply as Death Scythe, is one of those people.”

 

Soul let out a cough, abrupt and loudly enough that it was noticeable when it clipped through Lord Death’s speech.

 

It was far louder than he had meant it to be, something that made his cheeks burn and made him think _shit,_ but at least it definitely did the trick. Death Scythe’s gaze shot to him on reflex, as did most of the people in the church before refocusing back on Lord Death.

 

“You okay?” Maka murmured under her breath to him, voice still scratchy from crying.

 

“Yeah,” He mumbled back. "Sorry."

 

But Death Scythe’s gaze remained on him. Soul maintained eye contact, trying his best to relay some sort of message through his expression, anything to clue the man in.

 

_Don’t look away, don’t look away, I can see you, I can see you, see how I’m looking at you, see-_

 

Death Scythe’s expression flickered. So did the candles, every single flame throughout the church flaring upwards.

 

_The hell-?_

 

“Like many of my staff members, I’ve known Spirit for a long time,” He heard Lord Death continue. “He grew up in the city, and quickly stood out as one of the most promising young weapons in the EAT class in a long time. He was incredibly dedicated to his meisters, being willing the defend them with everything he had-”

 

For what felt like an eternity, they held each other’s stare. Death Scythe looked like he was flickering between confusion and disbelief, and his eyes, despite being faded and translucent, looked almost exactly like Maka’s.

 

“Soul?” He heard Maka murmur again. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

 

“Soul Eater?” Death Scythe’s voice was hesitant, unsure.

 

“-there have been many times where I’ve wished I could change the cycle. I’ve seen many, many good souls be taken too soon. No matter how much I’ve grown used to the inevitable, there are still times I wish I could change it.”

 

Soul held his gaze. It felt like his heart was slamming in his chest.

 

“Alright, if you can see me, scratch your nose,” Death Scythe demanded vehemently. “With your left hand!”

 

“Soul?” Maka repeated, and he could feel her lift her head to stare at him questioningly.

 

“I’m okay, Maka,” He murmured, despite how his heart pounded as he lifted his left hand to scratch his nose.

 

Death Scythe’s eyes bugged out. The look on his face was almost comical.

 

“And I can’t deny it that Spirit is one of those times. He was taken from us far, far too soon. Nevertheless, there is nothing we can do but embrace his memory. I will always consider him a dear friend, and those who loved him will hold him in their souls for the rest of their lives-”

 

Soul had expected Death Scythe to be surprised. Taken aback, maybe. Or cry some tears of relief. Maybe a bit angry too, for acting like he couldn’t see him the first time.

 

He hadn’t been expecting the air around Death Scythe’s form to blacken. For the air to feel heavy and like it was being sucked in towards him.

 

Or for Death Scythe to flicker into what looked like threads of shadows bound into a vaguely human-shaped form, eyes glowing a bright, angry red-

 

 **“You little S H I T - !”** Death Scythe’s voice snarled, except it wasn’t _Death Scythe’s_ voice, it was twisted and contorted into something that caused the hairs the back of Soul’s neck to stick straight up.

 

The air around them expanded in what felt like an explosion, ballooning outwards and shooting up, up up-

 

 _Oh, this can’t be good,_ was Soul’s immediate thought.

 

And then every single pane of stained glass shattered into a million pieces.

 

Soul’s gut reaction was to fling himself over Maka, shielding her from the rainbow-colored glass raining down. The church erupted into a chorus of shrieks and screams as people ducked for cover.

 

Afterwards he was left staring into Maka’s wide, horrified eyes in shock as chaos erupted around them, Lord Death and Azusa barking out orders and the Two-Stars frantically trying to calm people down.

 

Up by the casket, in the corner of his eye Soul could see Death Scythe staring down at the chaos, eyes as wide as saucers. He looked as though he’d gone back to normal, the air around him simmering down as it turned cold from shock instead.

 

_Well, so much for not making a spectacle._


	4. train cars and tumultuous minds

“So, did anyone actually figure out what the hell happened?”

 

Soul winced as Black Star (and of course it was Black Star) finally brought up the elephant in the room.

 

It was late in the evening, the funeral had ended _hours_ ago, and they were already on the train to Vegas- him, Star, Maka, Kid, the Thompsons, Tsubaki, and Crona, all but Maka crowded into the red velvet seats next to a window that rattled in what they seemed to assume was with the train’s motion- but no one had said a word about the windows suddenly exploding in the middle of Lord Death's eulogy.

 

“Kid?” Black Star pressured.

 

Kid just shrugged in response. “Freak accident. That’s the best anyone’s been able to come up with, from what I’ve been told. But Dad still has people looking into it.”

 

“Seriously?” Liz asked disbelievingly.

 

 _“A freak accident?”_ Black Star repeated. “What the hell kind of freak accident makes everything blow up?”

 

“Not everything,” Crona pointed out. “Just the windows.”

 

“For once, he’s right,” Liz said, arms crossed over her chest in a way that indicated she was trying to play off the unease in her expression. Soul would know, he liked to think of himself as a master of that kind of thing. “That was spooky as hell. Didn’t you see the way the candles were flaring up before the windows exploded?”

 

“No?” Kid replied, sounding somewhat hesitantly. “Although I was a bit distracted, whoever placed the casket put it a bit off-center-”

 

“So you really think Maka’s old man is pulling a Casper?” Patty asked, softly.

 

And there it was.

 

Soul was just thankful that Maka had excused herself to go to bed before this conversation had taken place. And clearly Patty was too, considering how her eyes flickered towards the door leading to the sleeping car as she spoke.

 

“I hope not,” Liz mumbled, the panic in her expression hard to miss. “That- that wouldn’t be good, right?”

 

“Debatable,” Kid responded, though Soul caught how his jaw had tightened at Patty’s question. “If Spirit’s soul is in fact still lingering on this earth, we could probably get some helpful information about his murderer. I doubt it is, though.”  


“How come, Kid?” Tsubaki asked.

 

“Yeah,” Death Scythe snapped. _“How come, Kid?”_

 

He was standing (hovering?) right next to Kid, arms crossed and glowering. Thankfully, he didn’t seem angry as he was earlier, but his earlier frustration clearly hadn’t quite dissipated. Soul was just glad that no one had seemed to notice how the lights in the train flickered every several seconds or so, likely attributing it to the rumbling of the train.

 

“Simple,” Kid continued. “If Spirit’s soul had been somehow been lurking around the church, someone would have sensed it. Or at the very least, Father would have. After the funeral, he specifically scoured the city just to be sure, but he couldn’t find anything.”

 

Soul’s blood ran cold, and he saw Death Scythe’s eyes widen.

 

 _“Seriously?!”_ Death Scythe screeched, and again, his voice contorted into something that wasn’t quite _his._

 

This time, the lights completely cut out with a soft _crack_ , plunging the car they were in into complete darkness and causing Liz to shriek and Crona to yelp.

 

“Okay, what the actual fuck is going on?!” Soul heard Black Star snap.

 

“Calm down,” Soul hissed through his teeth, though not in Black Star’s direction.

 

“Easy for you to say!” Death Scythe’s voice snarled back, but the lights flickered on again, blinking out once, twice, three times, before finally staying on to illuminate six pairs of wide eyes.

 

“Alright,” Liz squeaked. She was clinging to Patty’s arms in a death grip, face ashen and eyes wide. “Maybe we could stop talking about this, please?”

 

“Relax, it- it most likely had something to do with the train’s electrical system.” Kid sounded distinctly unnerved, which significantly downplayed his attempt at reassurance. “It’s okay, Liz, there’s no ghosts here.”

 

Death Scythe made a strangled noise, and to Soul’s mild alarm, shimmering tears were starting to form in his eyes. “What, do I have to blow up this entire train to get you all to think that maybe something’s wrong here?”

 

“Please don’t,” Soul pleaded, without thinking.

 

Kid blinked at him. “Huh?”

 

“Uh- nothing.” _Shit_. “Never mind.”

 

“I’m not _going_ to,” Death Scythe snapped, before sending Soul a frosty glare. “Look, meet me in the luggage car so we can talk, alright?”

 

Before Soul could give any indication of a response, Death Scythe literally _vanished,_ leaving him under Kid’s searching, careful stare.

 

“You’ve been quiet, Soul,” Kid remarked. “Is everything all right?”

 

“Yeah.” Soul scratched the back of his neck in a way that he hoped looked nonchalant, despite his heart feeling like it was trying to beat it’s way out of his chest, and forced a yawn. “Just been a long day.”

 

That certainly wasn’t a lie. And Kid must have sensed it too, because he relaxed, his expression turning apologetic rather than searching. “I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s fine.” Soul stood. Stretched. In reality, he was trying his best to keep himself from absolutely losing it. “I’m probably gonna hit the sack. See you guys in the morning.”

 

A chorus of good-nights was his response, which his mind was too preoccupied to process.

 

Though he didn’t miss Liz saying “is it just me, or has he been acting weird too?” just as the door slid closed.  


 

* * *

 

 

Death Scythe was waiting for him with his back against the wall, arms crossed. He didn’t seem to notice how Liz’s oversized duffel bag was clipping through his foot on the floor. The door to the luggage care slid closed with a _click_ behind Soul with a click, and Soul immediately found himself pinned under the weight of Death Scythe’s glare.

 

“Explain,” Death Scythe growled, and for a second, Soul could have sworn that his mistlike form flickered a dark, angry black.

 

 _Jesus._ Soul swallowed. _Easy. Handle this with care._ “Explain?” He echoed, voice sounding small even to his own ears.

 

 _“You ignored me!”_ Death Scythe snarled, and his body _definitely_ flickered black that time, the air suddenly feeling heavier.

 

“Look,” Soul pleaded, hands going up in a placating gesture. “First things first, you need to calm down, at this rate you really are going to blow up the fucking train-”

 

“I’ve been screaming for _days!”_ The loud, angry shout cracked into a whimper, the heaviness in the air suddenly dissipated in a blink, and Death Scythe hunched forward like he was in pain. His misty form trembled as misty silver tears formed in the corner of his eyes. “At Maka, at Stein, at Sid, at Nygus, at Kid, at _everybody,_ I’ve been trying to get into the Death Room to get Lord Death’s attention, you’re the _only one_ who’s been able to see me and **_you fucking ignored me-”_ **

 

“I’m sorry,” Soul begged, because he suddenly felt sick as his mind flashed back to Death Scythe pleading at him the night before, the sheer desperation that he hadn’t actually managed to acknowledge until then because he had been too busy freaking out at that exact moment. And for the first time, it really hit him how alone and terrified Death Scythe must have been, _christ_ , he couldn’t even _imagine._ “I thought I was _hallucinating_ , you’re _dead-”_

 

“Yeah, I know,” Death Scythe snapped bitterly, lower lip starting to wobble. “I know I’m dead, thank you _so much_ for that reminder...”

 

“I’m sorry,” Soul said, desperately. “I am. I really am. I’ll make it up to you, I’ll help you figure this out-”

 

Death Scythe buried his face in his hands as his frame shuddered, and Soul could have sworn the entire car they were in shuddered along with him, causing his stomach to leap nervously.

 

“Fuck,” Death Scythe sobbed, voice muffled by his hands. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck-”_

 

“Look,” Soul began, voice catching as Death Scythe let out a helpless little whimper through his fingers.

 

He’d seen Death Scythe cry before. The man was kind of disgusting in that regard, and infamously. But  _this?_ This was _different_. Far different from throwing a fit over not being to talk to the daughter he estranged himself.

 

And it was made even worse by the sudden realization that Death Scythe actually cried a lot like _Maka_ did, with big heaving sobs interlaced with little pathetic whimpers, and it hit Soul hard enough that he’d had to look away.

 

“I’m sorry,” Soul repeated like a broken record, hollow and scratchy. “I’m really, really sorry.”

 

It took a second for the sobs to subside enough for Death Scythe to respond, and even then his voice was high-pitched and wobbly. “I - I know. I _know._ I know you didn’t mean to do anything, it's just-”

 

A lump formed in Soul’s throat. “I know.”

 

“No, you don’t,” Death Scythe replied, lips curving down in a bitter sneer, only undermined by how his lower lip was still wobbling. “You’re still _breathing,_ for one thing.”

 

“Hey, I’m not saying I know how you feel.” Soul ran a hand through his hair. What the hell was he even supposed to say? “Look. I just- I’m sorry. I really, really sorry. I fucked up, I panicked, and I really am sorry-”

 

“Don’t swear,” Death Scythe cut him off.

 

“Seriously- okay.” Soul’s knee-jerk reaction was to point out that Death Scythe had  _just_ dropped the f-bomb _multiple_ times, but he kept his mouth shut. “I won’t.”

 

Death Scythe gave a shaky sigh as he straightened up again. His eyes looked hollow as he held Soul’s gaze, hollow and disturbingly, disturbingly empty. “It- it’s not okay. It doesn’t _feel_ okay, I don’t feel _right_ , and it’s just-” His lip wobbled again. “I’m really, really mad at you, kid. I _shouldn't_ be, but- but after _everything-”_

 

The guilt flared up again, and Soul swallowed. “I know. I could have handled-   _this_ a lot better. I really am sorry, old man.”

 

“I know.”  Death Scythe quickly swiped underneath his eyes, tears dissipating into his thumb. It didn’t really make much of a difference though, since more moisture continued to pool over his eyelids and down his cheeks. “I know, it’s just- I’m just-”

 

Soul watched as Death Scythe let out a strangled noise, waited as he visibly struggled to spit out whatever he wanted to say next. His expression was strained, cheeks shining. If he had been alive, Soul had no doubt his face would be flushed and swollen by then. It was hard to say whether he was at a loss for words, or if he was having trouble verbalizing what he was trying to say, or if maybe everything that had happened was just building up all at once and preventing him from saying anything.

 

“I blew up a church,” Death Scythe finally said in a tiny hiccup.

 

“...Yeah.”

 

“I didn’t _mean_ to do it,” Death Scythe said miserably. “It just happened-”

 

“So you can’t control... it?”

 

“...I don’t know.”

 

_Great._

 

“No one got hurt, right?” Death Scythe asked, voice small. Almost childlike. And goddamn, was it the most pitiful thing Soul had ever seen. 

 

“No,” Soul was quick to respond. “No, everyone was fine. Just scared the crap out of a lot of people, but everyone was fine.”

 

Which was a bit of a miracle, considering all the glass. But he sure as hell wasn't going to say _that._

 

“Thank god,” Death Scythe murmured, shoulders sagging in relief. “Thank god.”

 

A silence fell over them, then. Death Scythe attempted to wipe at his cheeks and under his eyes. And Soul couldn’t do much except watch, as he suddenly realized that he’d never actually talked one-on-one with Death Scythe before. They’d never actually been alone in the same room together, and their interactions had been entirely filtered through Maka. 

 

Which Soul never actually had a problem with. He didn’t actually hate the guy, though there was definitely disgust there for sure, because Death Scythe was an asshole who fucked over his family and had the nerve to cry when his daughter said she was disgusted with him. But at the very least there was never any doubt that he loved Maka, so Soul had always done his best to tolerate him when he had to.

 

But now, Soul was the only one who could even acknowledge his presence. Was that irony? There had to be _some_ form of irony there.

 

“Quit staring at me,” Death Scythe mumbled under his breath. “I know I look scary now, get over it.”

 

“Sorry.” Soul quickly averted his gaze to the floor. “It’s just- what _happened_ to you?”

 

Death Scythe barked out a short, bitter laugh. “I’d like to know that too.”

 

“And why am I the only one who can see you? How come nobody can sense that you’re still around?”

 

 _“I don’t know.”_ Death Scythe smoothed his hair back, before glancing back up at Soul. His eyes looked hollowed out, dark, swirling sinkholes that caused Soul to shiver despite how hard he was trying not to. “You seriously don’t think I haven’t been trying to figure all this out? I don’t know why nobody can see me, why I didn’t pah- pass on.” His voice wavered for a second before continuing. “I don’t even know what _happened-”_

 

“Wait, hold on- you don’t remember how you-”

 

Death Scythe’s gaze flickered down to the floor, and it took a second for him to respond. “The last thing I remember before I… before I woke up like this was waiting for you to show up.” He sent another withering glare at Soul. “You were really fucking late by the way.”

 

“Yeah, that’s definitely the most important thing right now.”

 

Death Scythe scowled. “The last thing I remember was- well, I guess the only way I could describe it is that it felt like I had gotten shot.”

 

Soul’s brows furrowed. His mind flickered back to when he’d found Death Scythe’s body, how it looked like the center of his torso had been completely torn apart...  


“But...it burned.” Death Scythe’s knuckles clenched against his shirt, and if they could turn white Soul had no doubt that they would. “It felt like a thousand tiny hooks had been shot into my chest, and those hooks felt like they were on fire. Then- then I felt something _tear...”_ He made a sharp, jerky movement his his hand against his chest, causing Soul to wince.

 

“So…” Soul had to take a minute to pause, to try to banish the images of blood and an unmoving body from his mind’s eye, before continuing. “So you think you were shot.”

 

“Not really. It felt like- like a grappling hook. You know how you shoot them to hook onto the side of a building to pull yourself up? It felt like that. Like I was the side of a building, and someone was using me to pull themselves up.” Death Scythe frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense. Does that make any sense?”

 

“No, I get you.” And once again, it brought to mind all-too recent memories he didn’t want to think about. _Don't think about the blood, don't think about the body..._ “What happened before that? You were waiting for me, and-”  


 

“I went into my kitchen to get a drink. I walked into my kitchen, and then I felt that pain in my back.”

 

“In your back? So you didn’t see who-”

 

Death Scythe shook his head.

 

“Wait. So you were just going to your kitchen, in your house like normal, and then you just got shot?”

 

“Yep,” Death Scythe said bitterly. “It- I didn’t see anyone. I didn’t see any signs of somebody breaking in, I didn’t hear anything strange. I was going to get a _beer_ , for fuck’s sake-”

 

“We think she managed to disguise herself to enter the building,” Soul said, without thinking.

 

“She- you mean the Witch Jana’s daughter”

 

Soul blinked. “Wait, you know about that?”

 

“I was at the deposition.”

 

Soul stared. “You _were?”_

 

Death Scythe nodded. “I was in the back.”

 

Soul groaned. _“Jesus._ And was last night the only night you’ve been in Maka’s room? Or around the apartment in general?”

 

“No,” Death Scythe admitted, quietly.

 

“Then if I had just- if I had just been in the right place at the right time, if _you_ had just been in the right place at the right time, I could have noticed you earlier.”

 

Death Scythe’s expression turned sour. “Yeah. Probably.”

 

Soul sighed, running a tired hand through his hair, which felt greasy through his fingers. He should probably do something about that at some point. “Listen. I know you probably don’t want to talk about the fact that you’re dead-” Sure enough, Death Scythe winced. “-but I think we have to sort out your unfinished business.”

 

“Unfinished business?”

 

“That’s why you’re still here, right?” Soul asked, uncertainly. He couldn’t help but feel a bit wary, awkward even. How was he even supposed to talk about this? He didn’t want to upset Death Scythe, or offend him somehow. “You can’t pass on.”

 

Death Scythe swallowed. “I guess?”

 

“So...so what do you need to do that?”

 

Death Scythe’s eyes darkened. “I guess I’d feel better if you killed that girl.”

 

“Done,” Soul said, immediately. “We’re going to get her.”

 

Death Scythe immediately scowled.

 

“What?”

 

“Look, no offense, but the last time you and Maka went after a witch, you kinda got your butts handed to you.”

 

Soul scowled. “Are you talking about what happened with Blair? That was ages ago, and after the Kishin, a witch kinda seems like a cakewalk.”

 

“Doesn’t mean you should underestimate her. I remember the fight with her mother like it was yesterday, and if she’s anything like that, she’ll be tough to beat.”

 

“Again. We beat _Asura_. Compared to that fight, this one should be easy.”

 

Death Scythe looked annoyed. “All I’m saying is not to be an overconfident brat and underestimate her. You don’t even know what’s she’s capable of yet.”

 

“I mean, she probably has her mom’s magic right?”

 

“Probably, but not necessarily. Witches don’t always have the same magic as their predecessors. The Gorgon sisters are a big example that come to mind. Look, all I’m saying is to be careful and don’t get cocky. Fighting a witch isn’t something to sneeze at.”

 

“I know, I know, we’re not gonna be stupid about it. But we’re going to outnumber her eight to one, I’m pretty sure we have this in the bag-”

 

A click suddenly sounded behind him, and when Soul whipped around he found himself face-to-face with Patty, who blinked at him in confusion.

 

“What’cha doing here, Soul?” Patty asked. “I thought you went to bed.”

 

“Uh…” Taken off-guard, Soul scrambled for excuses.

 

“Tell her you left your toothbrush in your bag or something,” Death Scythe hissed.

 

“I left my toothbrush in my bag.”

 

Patty squinted at him. “Were you talking to someone?”

 

“...No.”

 

“You’re a bad liar,” Death Scythe pointed out.

 

Soul restrained himself from snapping at him. _I'm trying my goddamn best, alright?_ “Are you going to bed too?”

 

“Yeah. Lizzy said we need to get some sleep for tomorrow.” Patty gestured down. “Are you gonna get your toothbrush?”  


“Oh- uh, yeah.” Somewhat awkwardly, Soul knelt down at his bag to unzip it and start rummaging around in it’s contents half-heartedly, knowing fully well his toothbrush was with his pajamas back in his bunk.

 

Meanwhile, Patty had knelt down to pull out a large, somewhat ratty stuffed giraffe with beady eyes out of her own duffel. Cradling it against her chest, she watched as Soul rummaged.

 

“Can’t find it?” She asked, a bit too lightly.

 

“Yeah.” Soul made a half-gesture with his hand. Don’t wait up for me.”

 

She eyed him for a second, and Soul felt discomfort prickle at the back of his neck. Patty was far from the sharpest tack in the box, but she wasn’t dumb. It was also very, very hard to tell what she was thinking sometimes.

 

“Okay,” Patty said, finally. “Sleep tight, Soul.”

 

“You too.”

 

The door clicked shut behind her as she left, leaving complete silence, save for the rumble of train wheels, behind her.

 

“She’s right, you know,” Death Scythe said after a second.

 

“Huh?”

 

“You should get some sleep.” Death Scythe’s arms crossed over his chest, his expression hard to read. “You’ll need to be at the top of your game.”

 

Soul rezipped his bag and stood. Once again, he seriously doubted he would be able to sleep, but instead of voicing that aloud he just said “alright.” He eyed Death Scythe, wondering how he was going to keep himself occupied. “What are you going to do?”

 

Death Scythe shrugged, shoulders slumping again. “Dunno. Wander around. Maybe someone left a radio or TV on somewhere.”

 

“Alright." Soul made a mental note to try to leave the small TV in the kitchen on. Might as well, after all. "One more thing- what should I tell Maka?”

 

Death Scythe went very, very still, and in that second Soul could have easily mistaken him for a frozen hologram. “What?”

 

“Hell, what do I tell the others?” Soul crossed his arms. “I’ve just been trying to not cause a big scene until I can figure out how to explain things to everyone, but I’d appreciate it if I didn’t have to act like I’ve gone completely insane and talking to thin air. And- and I think Maka would really- ”

 

“Don’t tell her.”  


Soul stopped. “I’m sorry, did you just-”

 

“Don’t- don’t tell Maka that I’m-” Death Scythe turned from him, and Soul couldn’t see his expression. “Don’t tell her.”

 

Soul stared at him, mouth gaping open. “But- hang on, you’re telling me that you want me to-”

 

Without another word, Death Scythe blinked out of existence, leaving Soul standing alone in the rumbling car.


	5. cigarettes and second chances

_A shriek erupts as a wave comes crashing down against the sand, and it jolts him out of the book propped in his lap. It’s only when a pair of little blonde pigtails pop out of the water, spluttering out water but bursting into giggles nonetheless, that he relaxes._

 

 _“You_ are _watching her, right?” Finally, his wife returns, popsicles in hand and settling down next to him on the hand-woven blanket she had bought during their first mission in Peru._

 

_“Don’t worry.” As soon as she drops the wrapped popsicles on the blanket, he snatches one up, sticking his tongue out playfully at his wife when she gives him an exasperated, yet amused look._

 

_At the sight of her mama bringing back popsicles, his daughter stumbles up from the water and hurdles back towards her parents, and when she flops down on the blanket next to them she sends drops of sea water and puffs of sand flying everywhere._

 

_“Did you get the rainbow kind, Mama?” She asks, stretching out little hands sticky with sea water to snatch up the popsicles, narrowing her eyes like she was trying to determine what the flavors are through the plastic wrapping._

 

_“Of course. I wouldn’t dare get any other kind,” His wife says dryly, but the upwards quirk of her mouth is hard to miss and their daughter giggles._

 

_“Cheers, Maka,” He says, holding out his still-wrapped popsicle and unable to restrain the grin from spreading out on his face, because really, why wouldn’t he be happy? His wife is home, they’ve made up from their last fight, their daughter is adorable and smiling and he hasn’t felt this happy in a long, long time…_

 

_And his daughter grins back, takes her own still-wrapped popsicle to knock it against his._

 

_“Cheers, Papa.”_

 

_It’s one of the last times his daughter ever smiles at him like that._

 

 _(Because Papas are_ ** _liars_ ** _, Papas are_ ** _cheaters_ ** _, Papas destroyed families and_ **_were no good at all-)_ **

 

_He keeps the memories of those smiles, stores them like photographs into a little box that he locks away to preserve and keep safe, like a dragon protecting his treasure hoard._

 

* * *

 

Las Vegas really wasn’t all that much to look in the daytime.

 

Soul assumed that it looked it’s best when it was lit up at night and from a distance, with hundreds and thousands of neon lights glimmering on the skyline. But down on the streets in the light of day, without the flickering casino lights, it looked like just an ordinary, grimy city, bustling with too many people and too many tourists.

 

“Feels like we’re back home,” He even heard Patty mutter to Liz.

 

Even worse, as the cold desert wind whipped around them, it felt as though there were eyes watching them from what felt like every corner. Maybe he was just being paranoid (and it didn’t help that he was far from his comfort zone, there was too many people and too many sounds and too much _bustle_ ) but he kept getting the sense that some of the passersby were watching them. That they were whispering about them as soon as they passed, that there were eyes on them, and while he knew there was a decent chance he was just being paranoid, he had a feeling he couldn’t exactly rule that out.

 

“Pretty sure that lady had something alive hiding in her coat,” Death Scythe remarked, inclining his head in the direction of the aforementioned passerby. “It’s been a while since I’ve been here, I’ve almost forgotten how good the people-watching is.”

 

And then of course, there was Death Scythe trailing (floating? He sure as hell wasn’t moving like he had when he was alive, anyway) after him, often just phasing around anybody who bumped into Soul and even through a lamppost at one point. It was extremely distracting, to say the least, and it was almost as though he was determined to make up for the days where he had been out of sight and was now set on trying to follow Soul’s every move.

 

It didn’t help that Soul was completely torn about how to handle him. Death Scythe had finally reappeared once they’d arrived at the train station, but he’d successfully dodged all of Soul’s questions (which pretty much all amounted to _what the actual_ **_fuck_ ** _do you mean you don’t want to talk to Maka, who are you and what have you done with Spirit Albarn-)_ until Soul had regrouped with Maka and their friends and thus preventing Soul from getting the answers he really, really thought he needed in order to properly deal with the _situation_ at hand.

 

“Are we sure this lady is going to talk to us?” Maka asked, quickening her pace to bring her up to Kid.

 

“She should,” Kid responded, pulling at the brim of the hat covering his stripes down over his head in the way that looked so absent-minded Soul wondered if he even knew he was doing it. Kid made no secret of his hatred for hats, after all, but it was probably best not to broadcast the distinctive white lines in his hair. “We’ve gotten information out of her before in the past. She just requires a sufficient payment.”

 

“And are we sure she’ll know what she’s talking about?” Soul asked.

 

“Positive. She has a lot of friends, to put it simply.”

 

They were on their way to meet with one of the DWMA’s informants, and Soul had to remind himself then that, haunted by his meister’s dead father or not, he was still on a mission and he couldn’t be walking around with his head in the clouds. He had to focus.

 

But at the same time…

 

Kid kept adjusting his hat, tugging it to one side and back again, pushing it up and pulling it back down. And Liz kept not-so-subtly muttering at him to leave it alone, causing Patty to giggle. As Soul watched them, he was debating with himself in his head.

 

If anybody would know how to handle a ghost, it would probably be Kid. Hell even knew what kind of weird shit he was used to, being Lord Death’s son and a literal grim reaper and all, so maybe he would have some sort of clue on how to help Death Scythe. Because Soul sure as hell didn’t, especially since he didn’t want to to screw up again and make Death Scythe accidentally blow out more windows.

 

“Who is she, again?” Black Star asked, a bit too loudly, breaking through Soul’s thoughts.

 

“Her name’s Vana,” Kid replied. “She’s a back-alley doctor of sorts, she makes potions and medicines for her fellow witchkind, but she’s well trusted by her clients. She knows a lot about what’s going on with them, especially around here. If anyone could give us a hint on where Annie Channon is hiding, it’s her.”

 

“And you’re sure we can trust her?” Soul asked, because he had to admit, he wasn’t too stoked about relying on information from a witch. Especially after his last encounter with one.

 

“I’d say so. Her information’s always been sound in the past. And as long as we give her enough money, she’ll keep her mouth shut.” Kid glanced over at Maka. “She actually worked with your parents to help track down Jana.”

 

“Really?” Maka asked, blinking in surprise.

 

“Yep.”

 

“And I’d agree with Kid,” Death Scythe chimed in, and Soul had to once again fight the impulse to look over in his direction. “She’s a creepy lady, but you can trust her.”

 

“Have you met her?” Tsubaki asked.

 

“Only once,” Kid replied.

 

“We were hunting down a necromancer,” Patty piped up. “She led us right to her, and we shot her up real good. The necromancer, not Vana. We got banned from Caesar’s Palace, though.”

 

“Can’t really blame them for that,” Liz muttered.

 

“Wait, you guys have been here before?” Soul asked, somewhat surprised.

 

Kid nodded. “Of course. It wasn’t exactly _easy-”_

 

“Especially after we killed that witch,” Patty chimed in.

 

“-but we got out in one piece.”

 

“It was one of our first missions,” Liz added. “A witch was trying to revive a kishin, and was killing people to do it. Lord Death didn’t really want to send us, but a lot of the nearby three-stars were unavailable so we went in their place. It definitely wasn’t the Vegas experience I had been hoping for, but hey, what are you gonna do?”

 

“Why did you think they were sent with you in the first place?” Death Scythe asked, and Soul could practically hear him rolling his eyes. “Weren’t you paying attention at that meeting?”

 

“That’s why they were sent with us in the first place, Soul,” Maka pointed out, and he could practically hear her giving him an irritated look. “Weren’t you paying attention at the meeting?”

 

 _...Great,_ was Soul’s only thought, faced with identical looks of irritation from both Albarns _. That's not distracting at all._ “I got the basics,” Soul muttered.

 

Maka looked even more irritated. “Soul, if there’s anything else you missed-”

 

“I know what we’re doing, Maka.” It came out a bit more snappish than he intended, and made him feel guilty almost immediately. “Promise. Okay?”

 

Something softened in her eyes for about a second, but it was gone by the time she turned away from him. “'Kay.”

 

He tried to act nonchalant, but he couldn’t ignore how his gut twisted a little at the response. And it seemed like everyone else noticed the sudden veil of tension too, because even Death Scythe didn’t say anything. Hell, even _Black Star_ hadn’t even made much of a peep the entire time since they’d arrived, which was downright disturbing.

 

They finally arrived at a worn-down looking motel, painted with a faded tan color. It was tucked away on the side of a small street corner, close enough to the Strip that Soul could see the silhouette of the fake Eiffel Tower, of tall white buildings, in the near distance.

 

“This it?” Maka asked.

 

Kid nodded. “Room 217.”

 

That seemed to be the cue for Maka to continue on forward, boots clapping loudly onto the ground. “Let’s go then.”

 

Dutifully, as always, the rest of them followed her lead.

 

* * *

 

Despite the cold outside, there was a small, rickety fan blasting a thin gust of air from the corner of the room. Soul had to doubt that it did much to actually change the temperature, but the witch Vana took a second to pause and switch it to a lower setting before shuffling over to sit on the corner of a worn-looking bed covered in half-filled vials and heavy, flipped-open tomes.

 

“So what can I do for you kids?” As Vana spoke, she made a gesturing motion with her hand, causing a single cigarette and lighter to dance over to her gnarled, waiting hands. She had to be the oldest-looking woman Soul had ever seen, with frizzy, silvery-blue hair, skin so pale and worn and translucent he could see her veins, and unsettling yellow eyes that seemed to see right through everything they looked at. The group of them were no exception.

 

“See what I mean?” Death Scythe muttered, seemingly reading Soul’s thoughts. “She gives me the creeps.”

 

“We’re looking for-” Kid began, before Vana cut him off with a wave of her hand.

 

“Is it your father who’s dead? No, I didn’t think so.” The yellow eyes focused on Maka, then, who stiffened under her stare. “Tell me, dearie, who’s the unlucky soul slated to meet their execution?”

 

Maka scowled. “How did you-?”

 

“What, you think that the news of your daddy’s death wouldn’t cause a stir? Death’s personal weapon, murdered in his own home? You really think nobody would expect his daughter, the girl who killed Asura himself no less, to come after whoever did it?” The butt of the cigarette lit up. “Everyone knows who you are, chickadee. At the very least, you don’t have to worry about anyone getting in your way.”

 

Bewilderment flashed across Maka’s face. “What do you mean?”

 

Vana snorted around her cigarette before exhaling out a small cloud of smoke. “No one’s gonna mess with you. That’s what I mean. You’ve got a bit of a reputation.”

 

“Really?” Maka’s eyes went wide for a second. “A reputation...where?”

 

The old woman smirked a little. “Where it matters.”

 

Soul heard Death Scythe give a little hum of approval.

 

“Hey, what about me?” Black Star cut in. “Do I have a reputation? I helped kill Asura too, y’know.”

 

Vana blinked at him impassively. “Who are you again?”

 

“Wha-?” Black Star yelped in indignation before Maka cut him off.

 

“Okay, so you know what we’re here for. Great. So maybe you could tell us where Annie Channon is.”

 

There was a pause. Soul didn’t miss how surprise flashed in those creepy yellow eyes at the name.

 

“Annie Channon?” She asked, voice slow.

 

“Yeah. Do you know her?”

 

“Yeah, I know her,” Vana replied. There was something strange in her voice. “I knew her mother too.”

 

“You knew the witch Jana?” Maka asked, eyes narrowing.

 

“Yeah, and I helped your mommy and daddy catch her too, so don’t get snippy with me,” Vana snapped, and Soul didn’t miss the spark of indignation flare up in her eyes.

 

Maka crossed her arms. “So you’ll have no problem telling us about her then, right?”

 

The spark faded, somewhat. “Are you _sure_ it was her?”

 

“Soul caught her in Papa’s apartment after he’d been killed.” Maka said flatly, a bit too flatly, gesturing over to Soul as she spoke.

 

Vana’s eyes flickered over to Soul, who nodded in confirmation. He couldn’t help but feel aware of Death Scythe’s sudden, almost prominent silence next to him.

 

“I see,” She finally said.

 

“You seem surprised,” Soul said.

 

She didn’t exactly flinch, but it looked like she was trying not to. “I am.”

 

“Why?” Maka asked.

 

Vana leaned back against the bed, expression closed off. “You’re not, because your father was one of the people who killed her mother. But let me tell you, there was no love lost between her and her mother.”

 

Soul blinked. So did Maka next to him, and probably everyone else.

 

“What do you mean?” Kid asked.

 

“She was young when Jana died. She’s always known that her mother was a murderer.” Vana took a long, slow drag off her cigarette. “It’s a weight she grew up under. For as long as I’ve known her, she’s rejected everything her mother’s done.”

 

Soul couldn’t help but frown at that. It sounded oddly personal, the way Vana talked about Annie. Her voice was too flat, and everything about her demeanor screamed that she was acting deliberately impassive, covering up something much more rawer beneath the surface. When he exchanged a glance with Maka, it was clear she was thinking along the same lines.

 

“How do you know this?” Maka asked, slowly.

 

“I taught Jana how to brew before she lost it and went on her killing spree,” Was the only response. "She was my...apprentice."

 

 _Aha,_ Soul thought. _That probably explains it._

 

“If you had to guess...why do you think she would have done it?” Tsubaki asked.

 

"Pardon?"

 

"Why do you think Annie did it?" Tsubaki asked.

 

Vana shrugged, almost dismissively, but it was easy to see through. “If I had to guess, it may have been because of her father.”

 

“Her father?” Maka echoed.

 

Vana nodded. “His name was Haru Saiko, and trust me, that man loved his wife more than anything. Seemed to love his daughter too, or at least had a better relationship with her than his wife did. He spent the rest of his life mourning her, and when he died, and everyone who knew him said it was from a broken heart.”

 

Maka scoffed. “That’s just dumb.”

 

“Maka!” Tsubaki looked shocked.

 

“What?! I mean, it’s...it’s all really sad, don’t get me wrong, but thinking he died from a broken heart is dumb.”

 

“So she was a daddy’s girl, then?” Black Star asked, somewhat gruffly. “Is that why she did it?”

 

“I don’t know. Again, I never thought she would go down this route. I’ve heard Annie call her mother a monster.” Vana took a long, slow drag off her cigarette.

 

Maka’s eyes narrowed down at the old woman. “But do you know where she is?”

 

There was a pause. “Yeah. I do.”

 

“Are you going to tell us?”

 

Another pause, much, much longer than the previous one.

 

Just as Soul was beginning to think that maybe she wouldn’t cooperate after all, Vana stood, cigarette dangling between claw-like fingers.

 

“Follow me,” She said shortly.

  

* * *

  

Two flights of stairs later, and they were standing at the door of another hotel room, as Vana wiggled her fingers and caused the door of room 237 to pop open.

 

It was a small room, looking barely lived-in. The bed was unmade, but other than that, there was absolutely no indication that anyone had been staying there.

 

“She’s been hiding out here under my name,” Vana announced, causing all heads to spin towards her.

 

“What?!” Maka snarled.

 

Vana looked unfazed at her murderous expression. “I didn’t know what was happening. She just asked me for a favor, said she needed somewhere to hide out in for a night or two. Said some people might be coming after her, though she didn’t tell me the details.”

 

“And you let her?” Kid asked incredulously. "You didn't even ask any questions?"

 

“What? She reimbursed me for the room, so I had no problem with it. And trust me, it's normal. That girl is a magnet for trouble.” Vana crossed her arms. “I don’t know when she’ll be back, but when the fight happens, do me a favor and don’t cause too much damage. I’m right downstairs, after all.”

 

Soul couldn’t help but feel suspicious- she clearly knew Annie, after all, was close enough with her that Annie would run to her for help. And now she was handing her over on a silver platter.

 

“And you’re just going to rat out your ex-friend’s daughter like that?” Death Scythe asked incredulously, pretty much voicing Soul’s exact thoughts aloud.

 

“Is she really staying here, or are you just trying to screw us over to protect her or something?” Soul asked.

 

Vana raised one hand. “I swear it on Mabaa herself I’m not.”

 

“Really?” Maka asked suspiciously.  


“I don’t lie to clients, chickadee.” The hand rested to her side. “If I wanted to protect her, I would have just said I had no idea where she was.”

 

“So you’re just turning her in?” Liz asked, slowly.

 

“If Annie’s going the way of her mother, there’s nothing I can do for her.” Vana took another drag of smoke before continuing. There was something dark in her expression, dark and unreadable. “I don’t defend murderers. And if she really did break into somebody’s home to kill him, that makes her a murderer. Simple as that. I admit I don’t like that you DWMA folks are probably going to harvest her soul, but, well. That’s what happens to murderers.”

 

Soul narrowed his eyes at her, trying to pick out any possible lies, but she seemed...honest. When he glance over at Maka, her eyes were narrowed too, searching and calculating at the old woman in front of them.

 

“That being said.” Vana turned over to Kid. “Tell your daddy I’d like an extra million for my services for this one, kiddo.”

 

Kid’s eyes bugged out. “What?!”

 

“You heard me.” Vana’s eyes turned sharply over to focus on Maka. “And do me one more thing- promise to make sure she’s actually guilty before you arrest her. Or at least before you hand her over for execution.”

 

Maka only stared at her in response for a good, long minute before she nodded.

 

* * *

 

Soul had forgotten about how much he hated stakeouts.

 

It was just hours and hours of hanging around and doing nothing but deal with the anticipation. The worst part was that they had absolutely no idea when Annie was supposed to show up, so they had to be ready.

 

For the first several, they were significantly alert. Watching the doors, watching the windows, ready to transform, ready to leap into action.

 

But boredom and weariness eventually set in. Black Star and Tsubaki were in and out of the hotel room, circling around on the motel roofs to try to spot her from afar.  The rest of them ended up pacing around the room back and forth- Maka watching out the window, Liz and Patty rummaging around to see if they could find any of Annie’s things, Kid and Crona hovering by the door.

 

“Doesn’t this girl have any clothes?” Liz stepped out of the closet, looking bewildered. “Or any basic toiletries?”

 

“Not everybody carries a ten-pound bag with them everywhere they go, Lizzie,” Patty called from the bathroom, making her sister scoff.

 

“Maybe she’s a light traveller?” Crona suggested. “I don’t like carrying around a lot of stuff when I go places either.”

 

“Maybe,” Maka said absently, eyes focused intently through the window

 

“Remember to blink,” Soul muttered to her.

 

She scowled, but otherwise didn’t react.

 

Then, _out of nowhere,_ Death Scythe suddenly materialized next to him, causing Soul to yelp and stumble back.

 

“Soul?” Maka was on her feet immediately, eyes wide.

 

Death Scythe just blinked at him. “What?”

 

“Uh…” Soul’s mind raced for an excuse. Liz, Kid, and Crona were all staring at him too, making him nervous. “I- I saw a spider.”

 

It sounded just as much as the pathetic lie it was, and he knew it. Maka’s brows furrowed, and the corners of Death Scythe's mouth twitched upward.

 

Soul resisted the urge to glare at the latter as he sat back down again. “I’m fine,” He lied, and he sounded a bit more confident that time.

 

Maka was giving him a quizzical look. “Are you sure?”

 

“Yeah,” Soul lied again, only to wince at the the uneasy expression that was forming on Maka's face. “Look, I’ll tell you later, okay?”

 

Death Scythe’s expression darkened, and Maka looked unconvinced.

 

“If you say so,” Maka replied stiffly, before sitting back down next to him. Her arms had crossed, and he could feel the prickly unease that was practically radiating off of her.

 

 _Well, it’s not like you’ve been very talkative lately either,_ Soul thought, but he squashed it before he could even think about retorting it. For one, that wasn’t fair, and for two, Liz and Crona and Kid were suddenly starting to look like they were very interested in the floor, and three, the bedside lamp was starting to flicker slightly and Death Scythe did _not_ look happy.

 

“I looked around the nearby area a few times,” Death Scythe said, glaring daggers at him. “There’s no sign of her anywhere, just so you know.”

 

Soul resisted the urge to throw his hands in the air. “I’m gonna go take a look around outside,” he said instead, shooting Death Scythe a quick, hopefully-not-too-obvious glare that hopefully read something along the lines of _follow me, please._

 

But since Maka then looked downright perplexed, it probably wasn’t that subtle, much to Soul's dismay. “...Alright. That's probably not a bad idea.”

 

“Um...what’s up with that lamp?” Liz said suddenly, staring warily at the light that had started literally flicker with irritation.

 

“Stop freaking yourself out, Lizzie,” Patty muttered.

 

Soul couldn’t help but wince at the hesitation in Maka’s tone, but since he probably had to get Death Scythe out as soon as possible…

 

“I will,” He said, quickly, before making a beeline towards the door.

 

“No, but you guys saw the light, right?”

 

“It’s probably just an electrical issue, Liz,” He heard Kid say before it closed behind him.

 

* * *

 

Death Scythe was waiting for him next to the vending machine (food, Soul’s brain registered, remembering that he hadn’t eaten in quite a while, and he should probably try to shower at some point too come to think about it), arms crossed and looking distinctly annoyed. The closer Soul stepped towards him, the heavier the air felt, to the point where he could swear he could summon a blade to cut through it.

 

“What the hell is your deal?” Soul interrupted Death Scythe, just as he opened his mouth. “Why do you not want me to tell Maka you’re still around?”

 

“Why do _you_ want me to tell her so badly?” Death Scythe snapped.

 

Soul stared at him disbelievingly. “You’re seriously telling me you don’t want to talk to her.”

 

Death Scythe flinched. “I didn’t say that!”

 

“Well, you’re pretty strongly implying it!”

 

“I have my reasons,” Death Scythe snapped. “Drop it.”

 

“Nope. Not going to.”

 

Without warning, the atmosphere around them darkened, and, on instinct, Soul took a step back.

 

_Right. He's an angry ghost now. Probably should keep that in mind a bit more._

 

“Look,” Soul tried again in what he _thought_ was more placating tone, but the weight in the air didn’t dissipate and Death Scythe’s glare was starting to _literally_ darken. “You don’t think Maka should have some closure? You don’t want to try to work through some of your guys’ issues?”

 

It was only at the mention of Maka that Death Scythe softened a bit, though the feeling in the air was replaced by something...tenser, almost. Something stiff, high-string, like a key played too high or too clumsily.

 

“Because I know you don't like acknowledging it," Soul went on. "But there's a _lot_ of issues Maka has towards you. You really don't want to resolve that?"

 

The sharp tension in the air suddenly skyrocketed, like a too-high screech of a violin chord. Although that probably shouldn't have been a surprise.

 

“I don’t care about moving on,” Death Scythe snapped. Yeah, he definitely still didn't want to acknowledge it- every muscle in his body looked tense, and his eyes were fixated furiously on the ground, refusing to meet Soul's. “It- it doesn’t matter.”

  
  
“Doesn’t matter?” Soul echoed, disbelievingly. “So you’re going to wander around and just be a ghost until the end of time? You really don’t want to move on to the next life or whatever?”

 

“Maybe I don’t have to!” Spirit shot back, a spark of desperation flaring up in his eyes. “Look, I’ve been thinking. Maybe- maybe it could be like I never- never left. Maybe I could find a way for everyone to see me, and it could be just like how I was when I was alive. Maybe- maybe it doesn't have to be that I have to leave, I mean, Sid's a freaking _zombie_ and he's still teaching-”  


Soul felt a stab of pity then, and he couldn't help but swallow. How was he supposed to respond to that?

 

 _Sorry old man, dead’s dead, there’s no way it’s ever going to be like it was again._ It wasn’t like that wasn’t _true_ , but it was a hell of a bitter pill to give to someone.

 

"Sid still has a physical body," Soul pointed out. “And- souls aren’t supposed to linger on after being released. You know that, right? You have to. You're a Death Scythe for crying out loud.”

 

“Well- I mean, yeah!" Death Scythe's eyes suddenly lit up. "Yeah, I’m a _Death Scythe,_ maybe- maybe Lord Death could help me stick around for just a little while longer-”

 

“That's not the point I was trying to make.” God. Soul felt so damn helpless, because that tiny flicker of hope on Death Scythe's face caused a pang in his chest. Because he knew he had to cut that off as soon as possible, because Death Scythe was _dead_. Dead, gone, not coming back, his story cut short when he’d been shot in the back. As much as Soul could wish that wasn’t the case _(and he did, he really, really did, he wanted this to have not happened so badly it hurt),_ it didn’t change the fact that it _was_. 

 

Souls weren't supposed to linger on after death. That was just a cold hard fact. If they weren't released, they would just wither to dust and die. Or even worse, just plain fester, and _that_ wasn't good at all.

 

Soul knew nothing about ghosts, but he knew _that_.

 

“Listen,” Soul tried again, before stopping, trying desperately to figure out what to say. _God, how the hell am I supposed to say this? When the hell did I become the voice of reason here?_ "Maka’s having a hard time. If she talked to you… look, her last memory of you is of blowing you off to avoid you-”

 

In hindsight, maybe it was a mistake bringing that up, because the air suddenly turned heavy again, and Soul immediately rushed to move on from that as soon as he felt it.

 

“-so just talk to her, okay? You- you can't come back. You know that, right?"

 

No response. The brief light that had appeared in his eyes was gone now, leaving everything cold. Death Scythe’s expression was hardset, and almost eerily vacant. So was the air around him.

 

Soul felt like kicking himself, because _that_ had to be the worst possible way to put it.

 

Death Scythe was in denial. Plain and simple. Maka and Stein and Lord Death and everybody who knew him were definitely grieving, but Death Scythe had a hell of a lot to mourn for too. He was what, thirty? _Not even mid-thirties,_ Soul realized then as he did the math in his head, since Death Scythe had Maka at eighteen, so if Maka was fifteen…

 

Sure, it wasn’t exactly uncommon for people in their line of work to die young, but Death Scythe would have had at least another decade or two in him. He could have had maybe ten entire more years of chances to try do whatever the hell he wanted to do, whether that was creating world peace or forming a whole new harem or whatever he thought he would need to do to forge and live out a decent life. Maybe it would have been good, maybe it would have been bad, but he deserved a _chance_. Everyone did.

 

“Look,” Soul tried again, somewhat desperately.

 

He had to at least convince Death Scythe to talk to Maka. Even if he couldn't help Death Scythe, he had to help Maka. He had to. Failure wasn't an option when it came to Maka, because any alternative was too unbearable to think about. And why the hell wouldn’t Death Scythe want to try to talk to Maka anyways? Why wouldn’t he, when he had spent good chunks of time in the last years of his life trying to connect with her, get back on her good side, be there for her at every possible turn, jump on what was probably his last chance to do so?

 

“It’s- it’s not going to be like it was." Soul swallowed. There was a lump in his throat, and he couldn't quite get it down. "It’s _never_ going to be like it was. You’re going to have to pass on at some point. You know that, right? So...don’t you want to try to make things right before you do?”

 

Death Scythe turned away enough that Soul couldn’t see his expression.

 

“I’m going to look around the block again,” Death Scythe said finally, voice undeniably wavering, and before Soul could say anything else he faded away.

 

Soul swore under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

 

Had he fucked up? He felt like he had fucked up, in some way. Maybe he’d been too blunt.

 

But what the hell was he supposed to do? Let Death Scythe wallow and mope forever, let him follow him around and pretend he was alive and that things hadn’t been completely, irrevocably altered? That everything was okay?

 

Actually, he realized, maybe that _was_ exactly what he was supposed to do.

 

Let Death Scythe come to terms with things at his own pace, let him see firsthand how hard of a time Maka was having. Let Maka come to terms with things at her own pace too, for that matter, and then bring them together when they were both ready.

 

Or something. No matter how many possible scenarios Soul ran through his mind, it didn’t change the fact that in reality, he had no idea what to do.

 

When Kid cleared his throat from behind him, Soul almost didn’t hear it. But since he did, he whipped around, only to see Kid standing across from him and looking at him like he had just sprouted another head.

 

“So,” Kid drawled, sounding casual, but his expression was deeply, deeply unnerved. “Why were you, uh, talking to the vending machine Soul?”

 

Soul blinked, before the comprehension that Kid had just heard (what was probably) everything.

 

_Shit._

 

Well. He was going to try to talk to Kid at some point anyway.

  

* * *

  

“Well, that certainly explains a lot.”

 

To his credit, Kid listened patiently as Soul fumbled through everything that had happened, did his best to explain everything that he’d seen and try to convince Kid that he hadn’t gone completely insane and that Death Scythe had definitely decided to stick around, despite the fact that it took what felt like a really long time to do so.

 

“So you don’t think I’m crazy?” Soul asked, relief blooming in his chest. That would be one thing he wouldn't have to worry about, at least.

 

“No.” Kid’s brows furrowed. “It certainly explains all the electrical failures in the academy in the past week. Not to mention the whole episode at the funeral.”

 

“Electrical failures?” Soul echoed.

 

“Yeah. A good portion of the Academy’s power blew out the day after Death Scythe died. Most of the city was on lockdown at that point, so we had it fixed by the time the school reopened, but it definitely didn’t help staff morale. A lot of people were freaked out.”

 

Soul swallowed. Death Scythe definitely hadn’t mentioned _that._ He couldn’t help but wonder what had triggered it.

 

“That...doesn’t sound good.”

 

Kid grimaced. “...No. It wasn’t good at all.”

 

“Is that a typical thing with...ghosts?” Somehow, it was weird using the word. _Ghosts._ “I mean, can they usually blow stuff up with their minds or emotions or whatever?”

 

“Well, I’m not exactly that much of an expert, but from what my father taught me, yes. Some of them can, anyway. The more powerful ones can, anyway.”

 

“Great.” Soul groaned. “So what the hell am I supposed to do? I don’t even know why I’m the only one who can see him. Is the universe trying to tell me I’m supposed to help him move on or something? Is there magic involved somehow?”

 

“If the universe is trying to tell you something, I wouldn’t know.” Kid’s brows furrowed. “But it’s probably safe to say that if he is supposed to move on, you’re probably the only one who can help him.”

 

“Yeah.” _That_ he knew, unfortunately. “I’m trying to get him to talk to Maka. But for some reason, he won’t do it.”

 

“What?” Kid asked, sounding incredulous. “What do you mean?”

 

“I mean he won’t talk to Maka, for some reason. I don’t know _why_ , he said he was trying to get her attention before-”

 

Kid looked troubled. “I- I don’t know, Soul. I’m not exactly very experienced in this area. From what I know, this kind of thing has never happened before.”

 

“What do you mean?"

 

“Well, usually spirits form from an uncollected soul. Because the soul is no longer attached to the body, it’s pretty much untied, free to go and manifest wherever it wishes. So usually, anybody it wants to see it can see it. The fact that only you can see Death Scythe is really, really out of ordinary.” Kid’s brows furrowed. “There could be a chance that his soul has somehow attached itself to yours, but...unless it was fractured in some way, it’s highly, highly unlikely.”

 

“Attached itself to me?” Soul asked, alarmed, because good lord that did _not_ sound ideal. “How would that work?”

 

“Well, sometimes souls fracture after death. It’s rare, but it’s happened. Only a part of it is released, and the rest usually attaches itself to an object, or a person. Usually it's the nearest soul in vicinity. This usually results in possession, though, so I doubt that’s what’s happening to you.”

 

“...Oh.” _Well, at least I’m not possessed. There is that, I guess._ “So...”

 

“I have a question,” Another voice cut in loudly, causing the two of them to jump. Soon after, Black Star dropped down from the rafters onto the balcony rail without a single sound.

 

 _“Dude.”_ Soul swallowed, shaken despite himself. “How long were you listening?!”

 

“Long enough.” Black Star stepped down off from the railing before crossing his arms. His expression was grim, much more serious than Soul usually saw from him. “So, Maka’s old man really is pulling a Casper?”

 

Kid sighed. “Apparently.”

 

“Right. And now my question to you-” He turned towards Soul. “Are you sure you haven’t gone completely nuts?”

 

“No,” Soul replied, flatly. “I’m not.”

 

“Well, at least you know it.” It sounded like he was just teasing him again, and it seemed like that, if it wasn’t for the clear unease in Black Star’s expression, something that Soul couldn’t help but feel taken aback at. But soon enough, Black Star had turned away from him and towards Kid. “I have a question for you too- what happened to Death Scythe’s soul?”

 

Kid blinked. “His soul?”

 

“Yeah.” Black Star scowled. “Did it release like it should? Was it there when...when Soul found him?”

 

“It wasn’t,” Soul cut in, trying his best to keep his mind from flashing back to that night.

 

_(Red on the floor, red on the counter-)_

 

But there hadn’t been a soul floating over Death Scythe’s body. He hadn’t really thought much about it at the time, or at all really, until then.

 

“We just assumed it had released on it’s own,” Kid said, slowly, but the hesitation in his tone was clear. “But...there’s not much way of knowing if something had happened to it. If Annie had taken it for whatever reason, or if it had been eaten.”

 

“But if it’s still around?” Black Star pressed. “Is there a way to tell other than soul perception? Because that obviously didn’t work if your dad did a whole scan of the city.”

 

“He did,” Kid replied. “And no, there isn’t really any way to tell other than soul perception. Asides from, you know. Stuff randomly blowing up, or the temperature changing.”

 

“We could always try again,” Black Star pressed. “Maka’s pretty good at the soul thing, maybe she could sense him. And since it’s her dad, maybe she’ll have better luck.”

 

“He doesn’t want her to know,” Soul grumbled. “Did you hear that part?”

 

Black Star scowled. “Yeah, no. That’s bullshit. I don’t know if he’s been smoking some freaky ghost drugs or something, but that is utter. _Bullshit.”_ He spat the last word out like it was poison.

 

Kid looked grim. “Maybe we should keep quiet about this for now.”

 

Soul and Black Star stared incredulously at him for a minute.

 

“Seriously?” Was all Soul could say in response.

 

Kid pressed his lips together. “Look, the last time you pissed him off, he blew up a church. On accident. With the force of his anger alone.”

 

That...was admittedly a good point. “But…”

 

"Not to mention he's probably much more volatile now than when he was alive. From my experience, being brutally murdered tends to do that to people." Kid sighed. "So maybe just give him a bit more time? He’s probably just adjusting to...well, being dead.”

 

“It might not be too bad,” Black Star said hesitantly. “Being a ghost might be kind of cool. You get to walk through walls and shit.”

 

“Yeah,  I doubt he’s enjoying it,” Kid replied dryly. “And furthermore...maybe Maka needs to be in a better place, too.”

 

Soul couldn’t help but bristle. “What do you mean?”

 

“Maybe not,” Kid said, hurriedly. “You probably have a better idea than I do. But...I don’t know. Correct me if I’m wrong, but it doesn’t seem like she’s in the best place to have a talk with her recently murdered father. Who, and we seem to be overlooking this, she didn’t exactly have the simplest relationship with at the time when he died.”

 

“Well, isn't that one more reason to try to have a fucking conversation?” Black Star cut in, sounding irritable.

 

“Look, I just want to make things any worse,” Kid said, somewhat pleadingly. “Things are already tense enough as it is. We might just want to give both of them time to work through their feelings. Soul, I completely understand that you might not want to play therapist, but I think you might have to at some point. For both Maka and Death Scythe.”  


“Yeah, no shit.” Soul ran a hand through his hair, and the groan he let out was only a small fraction of the mixed bag of frustration and confusion that had been hitting him repeatedly over the head for the past week. “Yeah, I know. I just…” _Have no clue what I’m doing. Everything’s complicated and it sucks. Why me._ **_Why me._ ** _Death Scythe doesn’t even_ **_like_ ** _**me** , for fuck’s sake, and Maka’s never really been that forthcoming about her issues with her family... _

 

An uncomfortable look flickered across Kid’s features. “I’m sorry I’m not much help.”

 

“Nah, you’re probably right.” Soul let his arm drop to the side. “Time...time might be good. I definitely don’t want him to blow anything up. I just...what if he doesn’t have much time left here?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“What if he’s here on a time limit? What if, if we don’t do anything, he’ll fade away somehow?”

 

Kid’s brows furrowed. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

 

“Well, how would I fucking know?” Soul grumbled. “And isn’t it better that he move on as soon as possible?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Great.”

 

At the very least, Soul thought, he should stop complaining. Stewing in his own bullshit was probably not going to help, so he needed to smack himself over the head and snap out of it as soon as possible.

 

“I just don’t want his soul to get fucked up or something by going against the natural order of things or something,” Soul muttered. “Maka would never forgive me.”

 

Kid’s lips quirked upward a little, but it looked more bittersweet than anything. “His soul will be fine. I don’t think there’s a time limit. Let’s just...let him adjust some. I’m not saying we keep it from Maka forever, but...I don’t know. It’s only been a week since everything happened. I can’t even imagine...I can’t even imagine what Maka’s going through. Or Death Scythe, for that matter. More time to process everything a bit more might be a good thing.”

 

“Alright.” Soul had to concede that Kid had a point, though he didn’t exactly feel too reassured. He didn’t want to keep things from Maka, for one thing. Especially not _this,_ especially not something so personal to her.

 

A part of him then wished that they hadn’t gone on the mission so soon. Yeah, he knew it was probably best if they wanted to track Annie down, but they had only buried Death Scythe the day before. Maka had come so close to falling apart at the seams at the funeral, she wasn’t handling any of this too well at _all_ , that he was kind of starting to understand Nygus’ earlier point that maybe Maka needed to stay back to emotionally recover a bit more before leaving to bring her father’s murderer in.

 

But at the same, he knew that there was no way Maka would back down. And furthermore, she knew her own limits. _For the most part, anyway._

 

Either way, he didn’t want to force her back. He wanted to trust her to know what she could handle and what she couldn’t. Deciding it for her felt manipulative, like a douche move. Though in all honesty, it wasn’t as though Maka was the one who had gotten murdered and whose emotions could apparently blow out windows.

 

If he kept it a secret, at least for now, it would be more for Death Scythe’s benefit than Maka’s, to let the guy figure out his issues. And Soul couldn’t help but feel like he had to respect that. Whether he liked it or not, he was the only one who could see Death Scythe. Whether he liked it or not, he was the only one who could help him, whether or not Death Scythe would let him or not.

 

He just wished he could help his meister too. But maybe it was just one thing at a time.

 

“Alright,” Soul repeated, straightening up. “We’ll keep it a secret, for now.”

 

Black Star visibly scowled, but he didn’t argue.

 

“Don’t you say anything,” Kid said, frowning.

 

“I won’t,” Black Star said, tartly. “Just feel like it’s gonna bite you in the ass later.”

 

“It won’t,” Soul said, quickly. “Look, it’s not going to be forever, we are going to tell Maka. Just...not now, I guess.”

 

Black Star’s scowl deepened, and without a word, he turned and stalked off down the hallway.

 

As soon as Black Star was out of sight, Kid sighed. “I feel like he's having a little bit of a hard time too.”

 

“With what?” Soul asked.

 

“How about everything?” Kid replied, dryly. “I just hope we’ll get to Annie soon.”

 

Soul sighed. “Amen to that.”


	6. hidden masks and faded memories

_The first time he tries to talk to her, she just scowls at him, clearly aware of his reputation. In their following interactions, he does his best to convince her that she’s different, that she’s **special.**  That she’s the only girl who’s ever made him feel this way. _

 

_(She isn’t. At least, not at first. Luckily, she’s one of those girls who have a sort of sixth sense when it comes to boys trying to butter up- she knows when he really means it)_

 

_(And maybe that was why she stayed, at first)_

 

_She’s beautiful, smart and strong and serious, intense in a way that scares him a little the first time he sees it, but only draws him in like a tractor beam the longer he’s exposed to it. She’s like an anchor, she can ground him even when he’s spinning frantically away from shore, she sees through so much of his bullshit it’s almost scary._

 

 _(It_ **_is_ ** _scary)_

 

 _(but he doesn’t want to admit why, because he’s a_ **_man_ ** _, he can’t admit why-)_

 

_Some people gush, say that they’re so good together, because just look at how silly Spirit can make her smile. Look at how she keeps him in line. If anyone can change him, it’s her._

 

_Others say the opposite- that they’ll never last. They’re too different, they say. She’s too much of a hardass, he’s too much of a dumbass. He’ll screw her over and break her heart, or she’ll run him into the ground until there's nothing left of him and never look back._

 

 

_You don’t know anything, he wanted to say. Besides, it’s none of your business._

 

_(He’s always been too concerned about what people think)_

 

_“We could help each other,” she said once, holding his head in her hands, fingers just near the surgical scar on his temple. She held his trembling fingers so gently, then, held him together so firmly and carefully after his best friend had screwed him over. She held him together, claimed him as her own. Saw him as worthy._

 

_"We could be partners,” she had said._

 

_(Partners, lovers, husband and wife…)_

 

_It wasn’t like it had been with Stein. With Stein, he had been his babysitter, and he had felt it every second of the day._

 

_With her, he had been her **partner** , and he wanted to feel that every second of the day. _

 

_It felt like they were unstoppable. It felt like it was the two of them against the world, marching in step to a beat only they could hear. She made him into her image. She forged him into what he is now in every possible sense, gave him an even sharper edge than before. She mapped out his soul into the back of her hand, and, in time, let him do the same to hers._

 

_“Maybe you could marry me one day,” He remembers telling her, remembers her throwing a balled-up napkin at him, telling him to stop joking._

 

_(She’s still beautiful, still smart and strong and serious and intense, even if they’re not as young as they were before-)_

 

_When he ate a witch’s soul, it felt like they were on top of the world. They stood hand in hand at their graduation, souls entwined close together and not yet ready to let go._

 

_(They weren’t ready to permanently stitch together, though. Maybe they would have, someday)_

 

_When you’re young though, it doesn’t take a lot to feel powerful._

 

_(It doesn’t take a lot to shatter that feeling either, certainly less than a positive pregnancy test left out on the bathroom counter)_

 

* * *

 

 _  
_ “-Soul. Soul, wake up.”

 

He awoke with a jolt _(positive pregnancy test, she’s having a_ ** _baby-)._** “Wha-?”

 

A wrapped pastry is dropped on his chest, and he saw Maka **_(little baby Maka)_ **above him, pigtails slightly askew.

 

“Tsubaki went downstairs to bring up breakfast,” She said.

.

It took him a second to blink awake, to remember where they’re at- Annie’s motel room- and he’s sprawled out on the bed. He’s not the only one, Crona’s curled up at his feet and Patty is snoring right next to him, but he still sat up with a jolt.

 

His dream was already fading. Frantically, he mentally grasped at the fading memories, because he couldn't shake the urge that they were important. But he only managed to clutch onto a handful of images before the rest of it is gone, fading through his fingertips.

 

A glowing witch’s soul. A baby swaddled in a blanket.

 

And for a second, all he could do was feel dazed. Somewhat frustrated too.

 

Like he was missing something important.

 

“Soul?” Maka asked, and he could see the way her brows furrowed.

 

“Sorry,” Soul replied, automatically. He pushed the feeling away, for the time being. Maybe to bring up later, for more contemplation. “Sorry, just- weird dream.”

 

“Oh.” She regarded him for a second. There were dark circles under her eyes that looked almost like bruises. “All right.”

 

 _Did you stay up all night?_ Soul couldn’t help but think. After all, he still hadn't showered.

 

He didn’t ask that, though. “How long was I asleep?” is what came out of his mouth instead.

 

“A few hours.” Maka chewed at her lower lip a bit, expression dark. “You look like you needed the sleep. Annie hasn’t shown up anyway, so it’s not a big deal.”

 

He still felt guilty. “You still should have woken me up.”

 

“I’m waking you up now, aren’t I?” She poked a bony finger into his ribs. “Come on, you need to eat.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” His fingers grappled for the pastry, tearing the wrapper open. “So she still hasn’t shown up yet?”

 

Maka scowled. “No.” She settled down next to him on the bed, squeezing him between her and a still-snoring Patty. “Liz is literally taking a shower right now.”

 

“In her defense, a shower’s not a bad idea,” Kid cut in, voice low and obviously taking account for their sleeping friends. He was leaning against the window, collar slightly disheveled and hat discarded on the ground. “I’m considering one myself.”

 

“We’re on a _stakeout,”_ Maka snapped.

 

“Maka, it’s been almost twenty four hours," Kid replied tiredly. "I’m about ready to go downstairs and talk to Vana again to make sure the lead she gave us was sound. And if so, I think it’s safe to assume that we should try to make another move.”

 

“Make another move where?” Maka sounded impatient. “None of the motel staff know anything. She didn’t leave any clues for us to follow. We have no idea where she might have gone. Vana seemed pretty convinced that there’s a good chance she’ll come back here, so I think staying here’s our best option.”

 

Kid sighed. “I don’t know, Maka. This is just starting to feel ridiculous. We’re literally camping out in a _wanted criminal’s motel room._  I can’t help but feel like we can do something else.”

 

Maka scowled. “Fine. Give me your phone again.”

 

“It’s still charging.”

 

“It’s been an hour, I think I can use it again.”

 

“It has to be at _least_ eighty percent before it's fit for use-” Kid immediately backpedaled at Maka’s annoyed glare, and made a beeline to the charging port in the wall, before sliding the sleek black smartphone into her hands. He looked a bit peeved nonetheless. 

 

“What are you thinking?” Soul asked, scooting over towards her as she started tapping at the screen.

 

“While you were sleeping, I was using Kid’s phone to look up anything I could about the Witch Jana,” Maka replied.

 

“Hence why my battery died,” Kid muttered.

 

“But I was thinking that I didn’t do the same for her husband. Haru Saiko.”

 

Soul glanced over her shoulder just as a list of results popped up on the screen.

 

“He has a wikipedia page?” Soul asked, surprised.

 

“Really?” Kid asked, kneeling over Maka’s opposite shoulder.

 

He could see Maka frown as she tapped the link, and the page popped up. It was short, from the looks of it, only about three sections long. Whoever had made the page hadn’t even bothered to put a picture of the guy.

 

“Not much of a page though,” Soul commented.

 

“He was a special effects artist,” Maka read aloud. “Though he did some acting work before that...he starred in _Night of the Living Sporks._  That's something, I guess.”

 

“Never heard of it,” Kid commented.

 

“Retired about twenty years ago. Died five years later.” Maka scowled. “No mention of any relationship with Jana. Or that he even had a daughter.”

 

“Or how he died,” Soul added. “Guessing none of that's common knowledge, then.”

 

“Hm.” Maka leaned back against the headboard, starting to type again. Her eyes were narrowed in thought, the look he recognized whenever she was studying, or working on the next big essay. “Give me space, you two, I need to think.”

 

Obediently, him and Kid backed off. Soul nibbled at his pastry, wishing him and Maka had agreed to invest in smartphones so that he could maybe help with the research too. He felt kind of useless, just sitting there, and Kid looked like he was in the same boat.

 

At that point, he realized that Death Scythe was nowhere in sight. He glanced around the room, just to make sure he wasn’t lurking in the corner or something, but nope.

 

He couldn’t help but feel a flicker of unease at that. Sure, he didn’t want Death Scythe hovering around him at all times, but not knowing where the hell he was was somehow just as nerve-wracking.

 

He felt a tap on his shoulder, and when he glanced over, Kid was staring at him questioningly. His eyes flickered around the room pointedly, and then back at him, questioningly, as if asking as if there was anything there.

 

Soul shook his head, and Kid frowned.

 

“Someone pass me a notepad or something.” Maka’s voice made them both jump.

 

“What?” Kid stammered, recoiling away from Soul like he was afraid of getting burned.

 

Maka blinked. “A notepad. I need to write some stuff down- oh, never mind, there’s one right here.” She plucked up the small motel-issued notepad off of the nearby bedside table, before flicking on the light.

 

Soul gave Kid a sharp look, because could he not be any less subtle? Kid looked away, somewhat sheepishly, but before he could do anything else Soul’s attention was caught by the way Maka was staring intently at the notepad.

 

“What is it?” He asked.

 

Instead of responding, she reached for the light again. After turning it more towards her, she leaned forward to peer at it again, eyes narrowing.

 

“I need a pencil,” She said, briskly.

 

Soul blinked, before exchanging glances with Kid.

 

“Pencil?” Soul asked, because he was sure he didn’t have one.

 

“Hold on, Patty usually brings some.” Kid went over towards Patty’s small, over the shoulder backpack, and brought out what looked like a worn-down drawing pencil that he handed to Maka.

 

“Thanks.” Maka turned the pencil onto it’s side, and lightly, carefully, began rubbing graphite onto the paper.

 

Over her shoulder, Soul could see the faint, white imprints in the paper beginning to reveal themselves, causing him to spring up to get a closer look.

 

“What did you find?” He asked, just as Maka set the pencil down on the bedside table to peer at the notepad again.

 

“Someone definitely wrote something here,” Maka replied, squinting. “66...Hallonfield?”

 

“Haddonfield, I think.” Soul squinted, trying to make out the faded, messy writing. It was very hard to make out, made just barely eligible by the smear of graphite. “66 Haddonfield, Suite…1408? Yeah, I think that’s what it is.”

 

Kid’s phone was back in Maka’s hand in a flash, and Soul watched as she typed in the address.

 

“It’s about an hour from here,” Maka read, before her eyebrows shot up. “It used to be an old makeup studio.”

 

Silence, as that piece of information sank in.

 

“We don’t know if she’s the one who wrote down this address, though,” Kid pointed out.

 

“Her dad was a makeup artist, and this is a makeup studio,” Maka shot back, springing to her feet. “That doesn’t sound like a coincidence to me.”

 

“Hey Kid, did you bring my shampoo?” Liz stuck her head out of the bathroom, hair wet and a towel wrapped around her, before noticing their expressions. “What’s going on?”

 

Maka grabbed her shoes from where they were discarded on the floor, and began to pull them on. “Somebody find Tsubaki and Black Star.”

 

* * *

 

The collection of one-story buildings looked old, rundown, but little details such as the tall, extravagant front fountain and dead foliage arrangements gave the impression that the place had looked a lot swankier once upon a time, which had to at least be over twenty years ago.

 

It surrounded by a chain-link fence with a no-trespassing sign, but that problem was easily solved by just climbing over it, with Soul and Tsubaki going first in order to carefully cut through the barbed wire on top.

 

“I feel like this is something that might get us in trouble later,” Soul felt obligated to point out as Maka and Black Star joined them on the other side of the fence.

 

“We’ll worry about that later,” Maka responded, which didn’t exactly surprise him.

 

“We could keep watch outside,” Tsubaki said. “If someone comes along, we’ll find a way to warn you.”

 

“I could do a bird call,” Black Star offered. “I could make a really loud rooster noise or something.”

 

Maka nodded. “That might be a good idea.”

 

“Meet you guys back here in a couple of hours?” Soul offered.

 

“Sounds good,” Black Star responded, before the four of them broke off.

 

Their footsteps made crunching noises against the rough, parched dirt, which was probably the only sound in the entire place. Suite 1408 was the farthest from where they had come in, and looked like it had been locked with a rusting, metal padlock that looked like it had been torn off and was lying on the ground when they approached it.

 

“Someone’s been here,” Maka remarked, kneeling down onto the dirt to inspect the broken chain. “The break’s pretty recent.”

 

“You think they’re still here?” Soul asked.

 

Maka shut her eyes. After what Soul presumed was a scan of the building in front of them, her eyes opened.

 

“I…” Her voice trailed off, brows furrowing in confusion. “That’s really weird. I’m getting... _signatures,_ like someone was here. I can’t tell if they still are, though.”

 

“Signatures?” Soul asked.

 

“Yeah. Like...fingerprints, almost.” Maka frowned, looking troubled. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s not a soul, exactly, but…”

 

As she trailed off, her eyes close again, brows furrowed in concentration. Several seconds ticked past, and Soul could see her fists clench, her jaw tighten.

 

“I…” She said slowly, through gritted teeth. One gloved hand rested against the metal door, smearing the thick layers of dust that had settled over it. “This is so weird. Someone’s definitely been here, but it’s like their soul just...exploded.”

 

 _“Exploded?”_ Soul asked, incredulously, because what the hell was _that_ supposed to mean?

 

Maka stepped back from the door like it was scalding, straightening up and staring at it for what felt like a long time. Her fists were still clenched, but her eyes were wide and bewildered, frame tense and defensive.

 

Soul stared at her, not sure how to respond. The last time he had seen that expression on her face… “Maka?”

 

Her lips flattened in a pensive glare, staring down the door like it was about to jump out and bite her.

 

“I don’t like this place,” She responded after a second.

 

“Yeah, me neither.” He didn’t want to admit it, but he could definitely stand to get out of there as soon as possible.

 

“I’m not seeing any souls, but…” She swallowed. “I don’t know. It’s hard to explain. It’s like someone ground a soul up and...and scattered it everywhere.”

 

His stomach flip-flopped at the description. "Seriously?"

 

“I don’t know how else to describe it.” Maka slowly unclenched her fists, but she didn’t look any less tense. “I don’t- I don’t know.”

 

“Is-” Soul tried to wrap his head around that. Because _grinding up a soul?_ “Is that even _possible?”_

 

“I don’t know,” Maka responded, sounding uneasy. Soul could tell she was freaked out. “As soon as we’re done here, we might want to get Professor Stein or somebody with soul perception out here. This place is _really_ messed-up.”

 

“Okay.” Soul suddenly wasn’t sure if they should go into the place. “Should we…?”

 

Maka’s jaw set. “Let’s just get this over it.”

 

“Right.” Soul fought down his unease. _Be cool. Be cool._

 

The door opened with a loud creak, allowing a streak of daylight to light of a dark room full of cobwebs and shelves.

 

Or at least, it would have been a dark room, if not for the small camping lantern set up on a small, fold out table.

 

“The hell?” Soul asked.

 

Maka barreled forward, ends of her black coat trailing behind her, toward the table. Soul was right on her heels.

 

The lantern was not the only thing the table held. There was an empty paper plate, an empty plastic cup, a stack of yellowed papers, and a purple composition notebook with _ASSHOLES KEEP OUT_ scrawled on the front in the same messy font Soul recognized from the notepad back on the hotel.

 

“She’s been here,” Maka said, slowly.

 

“She could still be here,” Soul pointed out, immediately transforming his hand into a blade and casting a searching glance around the room.

 

It was then when he noticed the masks.

 

The walls were lined with display cases, holding what looked like mannequin heads. And on each head were the most realistic, lifelike rubber masks that Soul had ever seen in his life, to the point where at first he thought he was looking at dismembered heads.

 

Some of them were so covered in dust that they were hard to make out, but Soul could tell that there were a variety of them- some had dark skin, some had light skin, some were of women, some were of men, some were young and others were old, there was one that looked like a baby’s face, and it went down in Soul’s book as one of the creepiest things he had ever seen in his goddamn life.

 

“Special effects artist, remember?” Maka’s voice made him jump, and when he turned to her, the look she was giving him was deadpan, all but screaming _are you seriously going to freak yourself out over a bunch of rubber?_

 

To which Soul wanted to respond _how the actual hell does this not creep you out?_ But instead, he bit his tongue, and did his best to grow a pair. “Y-yeah. No, I remember.”

 

Maka frowned, expression softening as she reached out a hand. 

 

After a second, he went ahead and took it. Because fuck it, she'd already seen him act even less cool than this. 

 

“Stay next to me, okay?” She murmured. “Be ready to transform.”

 

“I will be,” He responded.

 

Before they continued forward, he reverted his hand back to normal long enough to pluck up the notebook and store it into his jacket.

 

He had never liked masks, he remembered as they passed shelf and shelf of masks so uncannily realistic it sent goosebumps down his spine. One of his earliest memories was on Halloween night when he was about three years old, and his brother had thought it would be funny to put on a terrifying rubber Elvis Presley mask and chase him around screaming.

 

 _Thanks a lot, Wes,_ was all he could think. As if the place wasn’t creepy enough.

 

They made their way into what looked like the back room- a dusty workshop with bits of rubber, rusty silver tools, and half-made masks scattered across the surface. The half-assembled masks were somehow even creepier than the final products- scraps of rubber prosthetics, bags of crumbling faux hair, stains of paint that were the color of different skin tones.

 

“I don’t see anything too weird,” Soul muttered towards Maka under his breath. “Asides from the obvious, anyway.”

 

Maka didn’t respond. Instead, her hand slipped from his grasp as she headed over to the small workbench. After taking a deep breath, she exhaled it into a puff of air that blew a thin layer of dust off of a pair of framed photographs perched towards the back of the table, before picking one of them up.

 

The worn, silver frame held what looked like a glamor shot of a dark-haired woman in a strange, almost psychedelic dress. One side of her hair was coiled into tight curls, the other was flattened straight. One of her eyes was light, the other was dark, and while it was hard to tell from how faded the photograph was, one side of her heavy makeup looked darker than the other. The set of her mouth was odd- it looked like the woman was trying to scowl and smile at the same time, with one corner of her lips turned up, and the other turned down.

 

“Is that-” Soul began.

 

“The witch Jana,” Maka finished, grimly, before setting the picture down and picking up the other.

 

It was smaller, but the frame was definitely more elaborate. It was smeared and dust and grime, but Soul could still see that it was pink, decorated with obnoxious pink clouds and tiara decals.

 

 _“Daddy’s Little Princess!”_ was engraved on the bottom in purple bubble letters.

 

The photograph the frame held was in a bit better condition than the one of Jana, and Soul could see the little girl who looked about two years old that the photograph depicted. She had dark hair, and the most murderous expression he had ever seen on anybody, let alone a toddler.

 

“This is probably Annie,” He pointed out, because the resemblance between the little girl in the picture matched the girl he had seen back in Deathbucks far too closely to be otherwise.

 

Again, Maka didn’t respond. As she placed the photograph back on the workbench, Soul realized that her eyes looked much less dry than usual.

 

“You okay?” He offered, somewhat hesitantly.

 

She was silent for a minute before she finally spoke. “Papa had this same frame in his office.”

 

_Oh._

 

“I found it in one of the boxes of his stuff after...after.”

 

More silence. He stood next to her silently as she rubbed a hand over her eyes, turning away from him.

 

“Sorry,” Maka said quickly, voice husky. “We need to keep moving.”

 

In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best time to bring it up. No, it definitely wasn’t the best time to bring it up, not when Annie was probably ready to spring on them at any minute, when they were in a creepy building with creepy masks where people had probably been murdered or something.

 

But that had been the first time Maka had actually talked about her father to him. The first time at _all_.

 

“It’s okay to be upset, you know,” Soul responded, quietly.

 

“I know,” Maka snapped, and she flinched just as quickly as he did. “...Sorry.”

 

“It’s fine.”

 

And it was. No matter what, he still wasn’t going to push her. He was about to take her hand again so that they could continue searching the place, not expecting this conversation to go any further, before Maka spoke again.

 

“Look, I’m sorry if I’ve been-” He glanced over to her as her voice trailed off, eyes flickering to the ground. “I’m sorry if I’ve been...you know.”

 

He blinked. Again, he was faintly aware that it wasn’t a good time to be having that conversation, but at the same time he couldn’t bring himself to cut her off. “It’s fine. I get it. You don’t have to apologize.”

 

“It’s _not_ fine.” Maka crossed her arms, still not meeting his gaze, instead keeping her eyes down at her boots. “And- and I think that’s my fault.”

 

“Hey, no.” Soul somewhat awkwardly rested a hand on her arm, hoping it was reassuring. "Look, I don’t mind giving you space, okay? After everything that's happened? I'd be a jackass not to.”  


“I know.” Maka’s voice was sharp, but he couldn’t miss how it wavered, and she immediately drew a hand up to her eyes to wipe at her eyes again. “Shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be _crying_ right now-”   


“Don’t apologize.” He repeated, squeezing her arm, gently. “I get it. Trust me, I do.”

 

“I’ve been crying too much.” Her voice was small, and it trembled. “The more I think- think about it-”

 

“Crying’s not the end of the world-”

 

“I’m just sick of it!” She burst out, voice catching in a sob. “I’m _sick_ of crying, I’m sick of- of feeling so _helpless-_ I don’t want to be _here-_ ” 

 

Soul swallowed as she cut herself off, hand clapping over her mouth to muffle a sob. It took a good second for her continue.

 

“I’m just _sick of it,”_ Maka choked out in a snarl, wiping her eyes in furious, angry motions that made her eyes look red and swollen. “Every night, that’s all I do, and I just want this all to be _over._ I just want to finish this mission. I want this witch _dead.”_

 

The lump in his throat was back, and it felt like it took all of strength to force it down. “I know.”

 

“I don’t think I’ve ever really wanted anyone _dead_ before.” Her voice sounded pitched, fragile enough to break. “But- but every time I think of that girl, I just- something in me just _burns_ , and all I can think about is how she-” Her voice cracked again, wavering into a sound that sounded vaguely like a sob. Her hand covered her mouth. “God _dammit…”_

 

He stepped forward, ready to pull her forward, but she stepped away from him, shutting him down just a single motion. She refused to even look at him.

 

“Maka…” His own voice broke a little.

 

“Don’t.” Her voice wavered. Her cheeks looked damp, bright red from how furiously she had rubbed them. “I...I can’t be like- I can’t break down. I need to keep going.”

 

“You’re _not_ breaking down, you just-”

 

 _“I need to keep going,”_ She repeated, vehemently, angrily. “I...I need to kill her, Soul. Or at least, bring her in. Make sure she never sees the light of day again. I don't- if I don't, then I don't know if I'll be okay again.”

 

She was burning. Soul was always aware of her wavelength, even when he wasn’t particularly thinking about it, but he couldn’t even get close without feeling like he was going to get torched alive. The warm, golden light he was used to was burning so hot it was almost terrifying.

 

He was already used to it, in a way. Her quiet power. Her soul was like a bundle of heat and energy, a tightly-condensed star. Push it too far, and it could explode, scorching everything in its wake. He remembered suddenly how the sheer force of Death Scythe’s anger was enough to blow out the church windows in ghost form, and recognized then that was probably where she got it from.

 

But she was trying to keep her anger shut away. He just wasn’t completely sure _why._ Especially since it was in no way at all like her. She wasn’t a brooder, unlike him she didn’t regenerate by being alone. She needed _people_. It just wasn’t her nature. He could only assume that losing her father had completely thrown her off the rails. Hell even knew what it had done to her wavelength (though he wouldn’t exactly know, he hadn’t felt it at all since Death Scythe had died).

 

But if he pushed her at that moment, that probably wouldn’t go over well either. Maka Albarn was a stubborn bull in sheep’s clothing, and he knew that better than anyone. If he pushed before she was ready, she’d only push back, probably even harder than he would.

 

“We will,” Soul replied, softly. He reached out to grip her shoulder again, as tight and steadfast as possible. She didn’t pull away, that time. “We will. And I’ll eat her soul, count be damned.”

 

He watched as she took a deep, shuddering breath, before a movement across the room caught his eye.

 

Death Scythe’s translucent frame stood in the entryway like a mirage. His expression was so mixed it was almost unreadable, and his eyes were focused solely on Soul and his daughter in a steadfast gaze.

 

Soul’s first thoughts were incredulous, something along the lines of _oh, so_ **_now_ ** _you show up?_

 

But something in Death Scythe’s expression caused...well, _something_ to shift. Soul had never seen anything like the expression on Death Scythe’s face on Death Scythe’s face before, even back when he was alive.

 

Suddenly, as he watched Death Scythe watch his daughter, watched that _expression,_ it was like he was seeing  _Maka's father_  for the first time since he had died. It was jarring, in a way, because there was so much unspoken history in the look on Death Scythe’s face, there was regret and softness and such a bitter, bitter sadness it took Soul aback.

 

**_(little baby Maka, tiny blonde pigtails-)_ **

 

Slowly, almost as if he was on autopilot, Death Scythe stepped forward, towards Maka, looking like he wanted to reach out to her.

 

But as soon as he stepped through the doorframe, something weird happened.

 

His formed wavered, turning from an odd, static-like blob, to normal again. He doubled forward with a sharp gasp, stumbling forward like he had suddenly been shot in the gut.

 

Maka’s head jerked up at the sound, as Death Scythe steadied himself, eyes wide and confused.

 

And Soul was taken aback, because Death Scythe actually looked- well, he still looked like a ghost, faded and misty, but he looked somehow less translucent. Before, he had looked like he had come straight out of an old black and white film, and was barely and outline against the rest of the world, but in that moment he looked more solid. Soul could actually tell that his hair was red, that his shirt was green, and the change took him aback, because suddenly Death Scythe looked a lot more like _Death Scythe._

 

But that shock was nothing compared to the way his and Maka’s eyes met. Really met.

 

And for a second, everything was still.

 

“Wha-” Maka’s face had gone pale with shock, and her eyes were like saucers.

 

Death Scythe gaped. “Maka- ?”

 

Halfway through her name, his form flickered again, and he pitched forward once more, and then he was back to his “normal” paled form, more of a wisp than a human.

 

“Papa?” Maka choked out, eyes wild and panicked, rushing towards his direction. _“Papa!”_

 

“Maka-!” Death Scythe’s choked cry was cut off as she ran right through him, looking around wildly.

 

“What-” Maka choked out, desperate and confused. “What just-”

 

For a moment, all Soul could do was stand there in shock.

 

“Hold on, you could see him?” He finally managed to choke out, as Death Scythe staggered to his feet, stumbled against the wall, staring at his daughter with an expression of shell-shocked bewilderment.

 

“I saw-” Maka whirled back to face him, eyes wide. “Wait, what do you mean _‘you could see him’?!”_

 

“Soul, there!” Death Scythe cried suddenly, pointing.

 

Soul followed his gaze towards what looked like a door to a supply closet, that was open just a cracked. He had hardly even noticed it when they had first come in.

 

Meanwhile, Maka looked confused, then somewhat angry, opening her mouth in what was likely a demand before noticing his expression and following his glance over at the door. “Soul, what are you-?”

 

Almost on cue, from the inside of the closet he heard a soft “Shit.”

 

And then the closet door flew open, releasing a dark, ponytailed blur, and a flash of bright light that so blinding that his vision actually went completely white for a millisecond. He stumbled back with a yelp, and felt his back collide with what he would later recognize as a metal stool, quickly losing his balance and nearly falling to the floor.

 

Then there was a loud, unfamiliar girl’s scream of terror, and as his vision began to adjust back to normal, he saw familiar icy blue eyes.

 

But instead of being narrowed into a glare, they were wide in shock, and the girl they belonged to had recoiled against the wall like a terrified, cornered animal.

 

And not only that, but they were focused directly on Death Scythe.

 

“You-” Annie choked out, voice high-pitched and laced with very audible terror. _“You-!”_

 

Death Scythe, meanwhile, stared down at his murderer with wide eyes. The air had gone heavy, ice-cold.

 

 _She can see him too,_ was Soul's faint, shocked thought. _What the **fuck** , she can see him too-!_

 

 ** _"You,"_** Death Scythe snarled, voice contorting ever so slightly, and the objects on the nearby work table began to rattle.

 

“Soul!” Maka’s cry came.

 

Despite the shock of the sudden revelation, and the spots still dancing across his vision, Soul was already halfway transformed before Maka even yelled out his name. He flew into her hand as she scrambled to her feet, felt her grip close around him-

 

Without warning, a shock of what felt like white hot, scorching electricity shot through his core.

 

**_(bright lights, Beethoven's “Ode to Joy” played by his small six-year-old fingers, the laugh of a beautiful woman that was definitely not his wife, the smell of sea water-)_ **

 

With a scream of pain he didn’t realize was his own until later and a mouthful of blood exploding from his mouth, he was back on the floor in human form, head spinning and the smell of burned fabric curling through his nostrils.

 

He could see Maka stagger back, smoke coming from the palms of her gloves. He couldn’t see Death Scythe, it looked like he had vanished from where he had previously stood.

 

Annie was gone too.

 

“What-?” He heard Maka gasp.

 

Dizzily, Soul stumbled up, not quite having comprehended what the hell had just happened, just as a loud, familiar crowing noise sounded.

 

_Rooster noise._

 

“We gotta go!” He felt Maka grab him by the shoulder, hoisting him up to his feet and dragging him behind her. Clumsily, he moved his feet as fast as he could alongside hers, until they were back in the daylight.

 

They were just in time to watch Black Star get thrown back, skidding hard against the ground until his back collided with a solid crack into the wall of the building they had just emerged from.

 

Annie Channon stood in front of them, chest heaving, ponytail askew, hands glowing with a bright white light. Soul had expected some sort of steel once they would finally confront her, but instead all he could see in her eyes was panic. There wasn’t a shred of the aggressiveness he had seen in Deathbucks- she looked more like she had just been presented with the electric chair.

 

“I didn’t do it!” Were the first words that came out of her mouth.

 

“You _liar!”_ Maka snarled, eyes dark and burning with a hate he hadn’t _ever_ seen in her before, sharper then even when she had faced down Medusa.

 

“It wasn’t what it looked like-!” Annie shrieked.

 

With a loud, angry yell, Black Star was back on his feet and was swinging Tsubak's sword form straight at Annie’s head. Annie immediately lunged to the side, hands coming up and blocking the strike with what looked like a streak of bright white light that reminded Soul of a shooting star.

 

“Soul, we need to try to resonate,” Maka bit out.

 

Her palms were still sizzling, he could smell her burnt flesh from where he stood. His body ached down all the way to the core, and he was _very_ aware that something was wrong with their resonance, they weren’t in rhythm like they should have been.

 

But Annie Channon was _right there._

 

So he nodded, transformed, flew towards her waiting hands-

 

“Soul, don’t-!” Came Death Scythe’s cry again, far from the corners of his mind _wait, what the fuck-_

 

Electricity scorched through his body once again, and that time he _screamed-_

 

**_(-a glass of whiskey, Wes’ voice explaining to him what a tempo was, the happy smile of a pigtailed girl-)_ **

 

_**.** _

 

He stood in the black room facing the piano, which had flooded up to his ankles in what smelled like sea water. The red curtains lay in masses of soaked fabric on the floor, the sky outside was dark and stormy.

 

He ran towards the piano, feeling like there was electricity nipping at his heels, but when he sat down, opened the lid, and slammed his fingers frantically against the keys in a loud, violent chord, there was no sound.

 

The piano was soaked. Ruined.

 

“No performance today I’m afraid,” The demon crooned, and when Soul whipped around it was pressing its delighted sneer against the surface of the mirror. “There’s too much _interference.”_

 

 _“What the fuck did you do?!”_ Soul snarled, flying to his feet, ready to slam his fists into the frame.

 

The demon smirked, looking entirely unruffled. “I didn’t do anything. _He_ did.”

 

“Soul?”

 

He froze.

 

Turned slowly to face a familiar man who most definitely did not look like a ghost, but was barefoot and clad in the same clothes he was murdered in nonetheless, who was staring at him and the demon in the mirror like the specter he was.

 

“What-” Soul couldn’t even get the words out. “What are _you_ doing here?”

 

Death Scythe didn’t even respond, instead staring wide-eyed at the demon. “What the actual fuck is _that?”_

 

“Now now, Soul,” He heard the demon croon behind him, and damn the little shit, he sounded absolutely gleeful. “That’s no way to treat a new guest.”

  

_“Soul!”_

 

_**.** _

 

He landed on the hard, dry dirt with a cry, blood dribbling from his nose. He opened his eyes to see Maka throwing herself on the ground next to him to grip him by the shoulders.

 

“Soul…” She choked out, eyes wide and horrified, tiny, strong hands digging into his shoulder blades. “Oh my god, Soul, are you okay-”

 

_“SUPERMASSIVE BLACK HOLE!”_

 

Annie’s voice shot through the air like a cannon.

 

The spell whipped around them, magic coiling upwards like a tornado and into the sky, like a giant vacuum.

 

And then he felt weightless, being pulled up towards the sky.

 

The air whistled around him, dropping out into a hollow sort of scream that shook him down to the bones. Everything around him looked like it had been distorted by some trippy, psychedelic brush in Photoshop that swirled and churned. He heard Maka cry out, felt her grab on to him, holding him in place, and he clung onto her desperately. He saw her clinging on to him with one arm and holding onto the root of a large, dead, prickly looking desert plant as what felt like a vacuum of gravity tried to pull the both upward.

 

And when he looked upward, he saw a massive black vortex. What could only be described as a glittering black hole trying to suck them in.

 

A fucking black hole.

 

Somewhere, amidst the sheer panic and terror flooding in his mind, came the thought of  _you've got to be fucking kidding me._

 

He could see Black Star hanging on for dear life to Tsubaki, who’s chain was impaled deep into the ground. He heard Maka let out a high pitched, pained cry and she clung to both him and the plant, which was just _barely_ keeping them rooted to the ground. In turn he clung to her, with one hand scrabbling for anything he could use to help keep them grounded but coming up with only dirt.

 

It felt like an eternity before it finally dissipated with a pop of what looked like shimmering stardust, causing them to crash ungracefully into the dirt.

 

Woozily, feeling as though he might be about to throw up, Soul’s eyes met Maka’s, whose pigtails were askew and face streaked with dirt, and Black Star’s, who was clinging to Tsubaki like a vise and looked like the carpet had been pulled out from under his feet.

 

And Annie Channon was nowhere in sight.


	7. circles in the ground and piano music in the distance

Further searching only provided the same conclusion- Annie was, in fact, gone.

 

The only evidence that she had ever been there at all was a weblike circle drawn in the dirt, made up of intricate, if hastily-drawn, lines and star-like shapes that they found about three hundred yards away from the office.

 

“That’s a transportation circle,” Soul said, mind flashing back to what he sort of remembered from his textbooks. _Some witches have the ability to draw web-like circles in the ground to act as one-way portals, known as transportation circles._ “She must have teleported out of here.”

 

Next to him, Maka let out a frustrated growl and her eyes snapped closed, features quickly tightening in concentration.

 

“Even if she was nearby, she would probably be using Soul Protect,” Soul pointed out, heart sinking as he watched her. “You won't be able to sense her.”

 

“It’s worth a shot,” She snapped back.

 

“Maka, she’s gone, we need to regroup-”

 

She shoved him away as soon as he reached out for her, eyes scrunching up as she sunk to the ground, head bowed in focus and scorched gloves digging into the ground.

 

“Maka,” Soul tried again, reaching a hand out to grip her shoulder.

 

“I need to concentrate,” She bit out through gritted teeth.

 

 _“Maka.”_ He tried to sound firm, but it came out as more of a plea. “She’s _gone_. We need to regroup.”

 

Thankfully, something in his tone must have carried over, because her body uncoiled into a slump, eyes opening to stare hollowly at him.

 

The cluster of buildings was far behind them by then, left as only a silhouette in the distance of the parched, dry desert that surrounded them. Soul’s entire body felt sore, like it had been scorched and torn-up from the inside out. Maka’s hands didn’t look much better- the white of her gloves had been burned to a pitch-black.

 

“She was right there,” Maka managed, and her voice wobbled, sounding like it was stuck between a sob and a cry of rage. “She was _right there,_ we could have had her-”

 

“We found her once, we’ll find her again,” Soul replied, and thankfully he sounded much more confident than he felt. In reality, he was kicking himself too, because she _had_ been _right there-_

 

 _And she could see Death Scythe,_ his brain helpfully reminded him, but he shoved that troubling detail aside for the time being. Because it wasn't as though he didn’t have enough to focus on.

 

“How?” Maka demanded. “Unless she went back to the motel-”

 

“I got her notebook,” Soul reminded her, patting at the inside of his jacket in emphasis. “And we can go back and keep searching the office, see if there was anything else she left behind. We’ll find something, okay? She’s not getting away that easily.”

  
  
It took a second before Maka nodded in response. But it was that pause, and the fact that she wasn’t looking at him, that made the gesture ring hollow, made it trigger something nervous and twitchy in his stomach. 

 

“She’s gone!”

 

Almost on cue, Black Star came running back around the bend, Tsubaki in hand, who shimmered and shifted back into a human as soon as Black Star screeched to a halt .

 

“Yeah, we know,” Soul shot back. “We’re regrouping back with Kid and the others. We need a new plan.”

 

“No shit.” Black Star stopped, staring down at Maka. “You okay, Maka?”

 

“Fine.” Maka muttered, before letting Soul grip her by the arm and pull her up. Her touch lingered on his though, for a moment too long before pulling away.

 

“I saw Papa,” She blurted out, suddenly. With no preamble, no forewarning.

 

“What?” Black Star asked, finally, after a stunned beat.

 

Tsubaki’s eyes had gone just as wide. “Are you serious?”

 

“Wait- _you saw him?!”_ Black Star exclaimed.

 

 _“Yes!”_ Maka whipped around to stare Soul down, eyes wide and desperate and confused. “Right before Annie burst out! He was standing at the doorway in Saiko’s office, _he said my name-”_ She visibly swallowed, lower lip trembling. She had gone paler than Soul had ever seen her. “He was there, but- but he looked- he _was a ghost.”_

 

Tsubaki’s mouth dropped open. Soul met Black Star’s piercing, pointed gaze.

 

“I- am I just going crazy?” Maka managed.

 

“No,” Tsubaki responded almost immediately, but she looked unmistakably shaken.  “No, that’s- Soul, did you see this too?”

 

It felt like his words had clogged his throat, like no matter how wide he opened his mouth nothing could come up. He felt like he was being pinned by three gazes at once, that were getting heavier and heavier the longer he held them without saying anything.

 

Tsubaki’s brows furrowed. “Soul?”

 

“You didn’t even seem that surprised,” Maka finally said.

 

Her gaze was the heaviest of all, two solid weights pinning him down and leaving him to drown.

 

“The first thing you did was ask me if I could see him.” Her tone was accusing, but at the same time, she sounded uncertain. Confused. “You- you seemed more surprised by that than by the fact that- that Papa was there _._ And- and I don’t know if-” She fumbled, desperately.

 

Black Star sighed. “You should have told her.”

 

“Told me _what?”_ Maka whipped towards him, then back at Soul, expression wide with a helpless sort of confusion, but looking increasingly clouded over with sharp, startled anger. “Does this have anything to do with how weird you’ve been acting?”

 

“I’m sorry,” He managed to blurt out. Because that’s the one thing he wanted to say. “I’m sorry, I-”

 

 

“Don’t tell her.”

 

Soul had to bite back a swear, because _of fucking course-_

 

Death Scythe was right next to her like a mirage, mirroring that same, helpless-confused expression that his daughter wore.

 

“Soul, don’t,” he pleaded.

 

“Start from the beginning,” Black Star cut in, voice sharp. His arms were crossed, and he was leveling a pointed look at Soul. “Just tell her what you told Kid.”

 

 _“What you told Kid?”_ Maka echoed in a sound disturbingly close to a shrill.

 

“Don’t,” Death Scythe pleaded, and _goddamn him_ , there were tears beading up in his eyes, he looked like he was close to falling at Soul’s feet and begging. “Please, _I can’t-”_

 

“Why?” Soul snapped, just as desperately, because Maka was staring at him with a look he’d _never_ forget-

 

“Because it’s her dad!” Black Star replied, voice sharp and angry. “I don’t care what Kid told you to do, this is her _dad!_ She should still be able to say goodbye-”

 

“I’m _not_ saying goodbye!” Death Scythe snarled, and there was the anger again, that brooding denial Soul had sort of gotten used to at that point, and it actually made him feel better than the helpless look that made him look so, so much like Maka-

 

Soul squeezed his eyes shut. _Fuck. Fucking, fucking, fuck. Fuck this, fuck my life, fuck **everything-**_

 

“Soul?”

 

Maka’s voice was small, and just by the way she was staring at him he knew she could tell something was wrong.

 

Because she knew him, and he knew her, and they’d been through so much shit already-

 

“I’m sorry,” Soul murmured, to Death Scythe.

 

Whose eyes widened.

 

“It’s fine,” Maka responded quietly, though her eyes followed his gaze, towards where her father was standing with furrowed brows, with a look of brief confusion when of course, she saw nothing.

 

“Soul _, don’t- ”_ Death Scythe pleaded.

 

“The night before the funeral, I saw your dad by your bed when you were sleeping,” Soul said.

 

Silence.

 

Tsubaki’s eyes had gone wide. But not nearly as wide as Maka’s, who was staring at Soul like he had grown another head.

 

“Stop it,” Death Scythe was begging, voice growing frantically in pitch. “Look, I’m sorry if I’ve ever been a jerk, just please-”

 

Soul continued on. “He was singing to you. I saw him, and pretty much pretended I hadn’t because I wasn’t sure if I was going crazy-”

 

“Stop it,” Death Scythe repeated, like he was on a loop. “Stop it, _stop it-”_

 

“-But then later I saw him again at the funeral,” Soul went on quickly, knowing he was giving the _really_ abridged version at this point, but he wanted to get as much out as possible before Death Scythe _completely_ lost it, and did who-knew-what. “-and when he saw me staring at him, he told me to scratch my nose, so I did, and then he got angry that I had pretended I couldn’t see him-”

 

 _“I said stop it!”_ Death Scythe snarled, and sure enough the air next to him was starting to feel a bit colder than usual. _“I said stop it, don’t you ever listen?!”_

 

“-and I guess some ghosts-” he didn’t miss how Maka flinched at the word _ghost_ but he didn’t stop nonetheless. “-can impact their environments through their emotions or something, so he got angry enough that every window in the church just exploded-”

 

 _“She doesn’t need to hear this!”_ Death Scythe went on as Tsubaki let out a little gasp.

 

“Wait, was that-” Tsubaki began.

 

“-But then once he calmed down we kind of sorted it out, but since I’m the only one who can see him he’s been pretty much following me around-”

 

 _“I said_ **_STOP!”_**

 

Death Scythe’s voice literally hummed, and the air, which had already felt ice-cold at that point, suddenly hummed with static and Soul froze, stopping in mid-sentence.

 

 _Oh my god, I’m going to get electrocuted,_ was his only thought.

 

“What was that?” Tsubaki asked, somewhat frantically. “The air just- did anybody else feel that?”

 

“Wait- is he _here_ right now?!” Black Star demanded, eyes widening.

 

Maka made a weird, choking sound. _“What?”_

 

Death Scythe froze, and just as quickly as the static in the air had formed, it had dissipated in what felt like a soft pop.

 

“Crap,” Soul heard him mutter, voice high-pitched and wobbly. “Crap, crap, _crap-”_

 

And then he was gone. Blinked out of existence completely, to god-knew-where.

 

“Soul?” Black Star was demanding. “Is he here?”

 

Soul raked a hand through his hair, trying to hide how much it was shaking. _Deep breaths. Deep breaths._

 

“Not anymore,” He managed

 

“So- so he _was_ here,” Black Star said, vehemently.

 

“...Yeah.”

 

Maka suddenly stepped back. Her face had somehow gone even paler, and Soul was suddenly worried she was about to pass out.

 

“Maka?” Soul tried. “Are you okay?”

 

“Fine,” Maka managed, but she didn’t look like it at all. “I’m- I’m fine. Totally fine.”

 

“Maka-” Soul began hesitantly.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

 

Soul blinked.

 

Her voice was quiet. She wasn’t angry, or shouting at him, though for all he knew that might come later.

 

“I couldn’t figure out how," he admitted. "I- I thought it might be better to give the two of you some more time-”

 

“The two of us?” Maka echoed.

 

“You and your dad,” Soul clarified. “It’s just...look, there’s just so much shit going on, and Kid said that it might be a good idea to let you two try to come to terms with what happened before-”

 

“So you told Kid, but not me?” Maka asked, voice flat.

 

Despite everything, he felt a spark of indignation. _“Fuck,_ Maka, I didn’t know what to do! I wanted to tell you, but Death Scythe-” He managed to cut himself off before he went too far, but Maka, of course, easily caught on.

 

“But what?” Maka demanded. “Is- is Papa not…” She trailed off, looking at a loss. “You- you’ve been _talking_ to him?”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I have been.”

 

She just stared at him, mouth opening, then closing.

 

“He’s scared of talking to you, I think,” Black Star said, suddenly.

 

Maka blinked. “What- Papa is?”

 

“He told Soul not to tell you.”

 

“Dude!” Soul snapped.

 

“What? What do you want me to do, lie to her?!” Black Star snapped back. “Fuck that!”

 

“Soul, how about you explain?” Tsubaki cut in, voice firm but quiet.

 

Soul had to grit his teeth to keep himself from snapping back. “I'm not  _lying!_ I just- Maka, I really don’t think his head’s really screwed on right right now-”

 

Black Star scoffed. “Well, _yeah.”_

 

“Shut up!” Soul snapped, feeling the last strands of his patience snap, and he faintly noticed that Black Star looked taken aback. “What was I supposed to do?! Say _LOL, no way old man, I don’t give a shit what you want!_ I didn’t like it either, but what the hell was I supposed to do?!”

 

Black Star’s eyes narrowed. “Did...did you just say _LOL?”_

 

Soul ignored that. “And for while I didn’t even know whether or not I was losing it! For all I knew, I was going nuts, because nobody else can see him but me!” He turned towards Maka. _“That’s_ why I told Kid, okay? Because I thought he’d have some answers!”

 

“Did he?” Maka’s voice sounded small.

 

“No! No, he didn’t…” Soul tugged at his hair right by the strands, and had to clench his teeth from letting out the scream of frustration, confusion, and anger that had been building up in his system since he had found Death Scythe dead in his kitchen _(why me, why Maka, Maka doesn’t deserve this, why did this have to happen -?)_

 

“Soul-” Black Star started again, voice low, but Soul cut him off.

 

“Save it, okay? I just...”

 

He couldn’t even finish, couldn’t even look at Black Star again, because his attention was fully on Maka.

 

Maka, who was staring at him with that wide-eyed look, with moisture beading in the corners of her eyes, causing what felt like an iron weight to drop onto his chest.

 

Her gloves were still scorched black. Her hands were probably burned really badly.

 

“I’m sorry,” Soul said, miserably. “I wanted to tell you right away, Maka. I really did. I just- I just wanted to make sure everything would turn out alright before I did.”

 

 _Our resonance failed,_ whispered the anxious little voice in the back of his head. _She couldn’t even hold me._

 

“It’s okay.”

 

She wasn’t even looking at him. She didn’t sound angry at all, just...quiet.

 

And she wasn’t even looking at him anymore. Her head was tilted towards the ground, bangs concealing her gaze.

 

“I understand,” She said quietly.

 

Soul swallowed. She didn’t sound angry at all. Just resigned. “Maka…”

 

“Let’s just...go back, okay?”

  

* * *

 

She had gone off on her own as soon as they had gotten back to the motel. She hadn’t even let Tsubaki wrap her hands, just grabbed a roll of gauze and took off on her own.

 

And he was having a hard time giving her even an hour to herself because he was so damn worried. How pathetic was that?

 

“You need to breathe,” Tsubaki said, gently.

 

“I am,” Soul muttered back, before crisply flipping a page.

 

He’d been trying to distract himself by flipping through Annie’s notebook, hoping to find a name or an address or _something_ worth investigating. To make the process faster, he’d even torn the thing in thirds to give to Crona and Tsubaki to help him go through it (giving Kid a mini-aneurysm in the process, but Crona pacified him by letting him sort their portion of the notebook). But from the looks of it, it was about ninety-percent _math_ of all things. Page after page of complicated-looking gibberish that looked like they had been taken straight out of an engineering textbook or something, which was about as useful as if the pages were blank.

 

Tsubaki looked exasperated. “You know what I mean.”

 

“So, is Maka mad at you because she knows you can see dead people now?” Liz asked, plopping down onto the mattress next to him to peer over his shoulder.

 

He blinked at her, because as far as he knew, they hadn’t mentioned Death Scythe at all to the rest of their friends when they got back. No, instead, Maka had gone off to brood, Black Star had gone off to brood, and Tsubaki had gone ahead and quietly filled everyone else in on how Annie had escaped as Soul took his frustration out by ripping up the notebook.

 

“She’s not _mad,”_ Tsubaki answered before he could even say anything, but he caught the not-so-subtle sharp look she shot in Liz’s direction.

 

Liz blinked. “Wait, seriously? She found out?!”

 

“How did _you_ know?” Soul asked disbelievingly.

 

Liz inclined her head in Kid’s direction, who froze with his and Crona’s section of the notebook in hand.

 

“Uh,” Kid mumbled, sheepishly.

 

Soul sighed. Honestly, he wasn't even completely surprised. “Seriously dude?”

 

“I just told Liz!” Kid replied, defensively. “But I didn’t know that Patty was listening-”

 

“And then I told Mr. Giraffe!” Patty added, though her eyes were still glued to the television, where they had been for the past hour or so. “But Crona was being a snitch, so they heard pretty much everything.”

 

“I was sitting right next to you,” Crona protested.

 

“Also, you’re the one who was being a snitch when I was talking to Kid,” Liz said with a sigh.

 

Patty scowled, and stuck her tongue out.

 

Soul resisted the urge to let out the biggest, most tired groan in his life. _Well, at least maybe I don’t have to worry about them thinking I’m losing it. Maybe._

 

“So you don’t think I’ve gone crazy?” He tried.

 

“No,” Liz replied, but she regarded him with a wary look that made his heart sink.

 

“If you really had gone crazy, you probably wouldn’t be so worried whether or not you’ve gone crazy,” Crona pointed out.

 

“Excellent point,” Kid replied with an affirmative nod.

 

“He isn’t uh-” Liz swallowed. _“-around,_ is he?”

 

Soul blinked “Who?”

 

“You know.” Somewhat ashen-looking, Liz’s eyes shifted around the room. _“Death Scythe.”_

 

“No,” Soul replied, flatly.

 

Which was somewhat worrying, because Soul had no idea where he would go, and at the moment he would have liked to know the location of at least one Albarn.

 

“Oh.” Liz’s color returned, and she relaxed, but her tone was somewhat awkward. “I mean- uh…I’m not trying to be mean or anything, it’s just-” She laughed, nervously. “Kind of weird, you know?”

 

“It’s just Death Scythe, Lizzie,” Patty said, eyes still not leaving the television in front of her. “I don’t think he’d be a very scary ghost.”

 

“Didn’t he blow up his own funeral?” Crona asked.

 

 _Yeah, you’d be surprised,_ Soul thought, but didn’t say aloud.

 

“I guess,” Liz muttered, but she didn’t exactly sound convinced. “I just...I don’t know.” Her eyes darted anxiously up at Soul. “Sorry.”

 

“Why are you sorry?” Soul asked, blinking.

 

“This just- this is all just kind of weird. And creepy.”

 

“Liz,” Kid muttered, giving her a sharp look.

 

Liz winced. “No- look, I’m not trying to be disrespectful or anything. I liked Death Scythe, even if he was a weirdo.”

 

“Me too,” Crona added, quietly. “I mean, Maka always complained about him, and I’ve heard about all the stuff about him and Maka’s mom, but he was always really nice to me. And it’s really awful, what happened to him. But I see what you’re saying, Liz.”

 

“Yeah,” Liz replied, looking a little relieved. “I don’t know, it’s just...kind of _eerie._ I’m just used to dead people staying dead- I mean I know he’s _dead,_ but-”

 

“Liz,” Kid groaned.

 

“And I know it’s not exactly his fault!” Liz said quickly, before grimacing. “God, this is weird- look, this is just- I’m just having a hard time wrapping my brain around it, you know?”

 

“Me too,” Tsubaki said, wincing.  “And I can’t even imagine how Maka feels. Or you, Soul.”

 

Soul swallowed. “I’m fine. It has definitely been...weird, though.”

 

Which was a hell of an understatement. But what else was new?

 

“I’m not trying to mean,” Liz said, somewhat vehemently. “I’m really not.”

 

“I feel pretty bad for Death Scythe, too,” Tsubaki admitted. “I can’t imagine dying like that...and then waking up as a ghost…”

 

“It all sounds like a nightmare,” Crona murmured.

 

“...Yeah,” Liz said, quietly.

 

“He is pretty fucked up,” Soul admitted. “And it...it is kinda creepy. And really weird.”

 

He felt a twinge of guilt at admitting it, but he went on.

 

“But…” He swallowed. “I don’t know. What happened...was bad. Really fucking bad. So I do want to try to help, I guess. No idea how, but I guess I have to try.”

 

“What does he need to do?” Tsubaki asked, somewhat hesitantly. “To...pass on, right? Isn’t that what ghosts have to do?”

 

“Depends on the ghost,” Kid said. “Some are suck here because their souls weren’t released properly. Others just stick around because they want to stick around. But from what Soul tells me, it seems more like Death Scythe’s stuck. Why though, it’s hard to say.”

 

“Shouldn’t it be obvious?” Liz asked.

 

Kid just shrugged, somewhat helplessly.

 

“We should make him a card,” Patty said, suddenly.

 

 

“Why?” Crona asked curiously.

 

“Why not? It might cheer him up,” Patty replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “He sounds pretty sad about being dead. Maybe something like a _don’t be sad you’re dead_ card. With lots of glitter.”

 

“I think he does like glitter.” Soul offered, remembering the last Father’s Day, when Maka half-heartedly slapped together a card by way of just dumping an entire container of glitter on it. Death Scythe had been pretty ecstatic upon receiving it nonetheless, though Soul had a feeling that Maka could have given him a literal pile of trash and he would have still loved it.

 

Kid looked thoughtful. “Maybe…”

 

Liz sighed. “You know, maybe we could get an Ouija board. Or do Bloody Mary in the mirror.”

 

“Death Scythe’s not Bloody Mary,” Tsubaki pointed out.

 

“But that’s a thing right? You can use mirrors to communicate with the dead?”

 

Kid scoffed. "Bloody Mary's a sham."

 

“'Sides, I don’t think that’s the best idea,” Soul said. _He doesn't even want to talk to Maka. I doubt he’d want to talk to anyone else._

 

But despite everything, he couldn’t help but feel a bubble of relief like a buoy in his stomach _(despite the fact that Death Scythe was dead) (and that him and Maka couldn’t resonate) (and that Annie was still out there on the run)_.

 

Because his friends were (mostly) taking this a lot better than he had thought they would. He didn’t know exactly what he had expected, but the fact that they had just sort of accepted it (for the most part) felt somewhat like a hefty relief. Because it _was_ weird, and it was creepy. And stressful. And kind of terrifying. Because Death Scythe was definitely much more intimidating dead than alive, and Soul had no idea how heavy the weight of keeping that secret was until at that moment.

 

It didn’t clear the gutter that was his mind completely _(or change the fact that him and Maka couldn’t resonate)_ but at that moment, his mind couldn’t help but flash back to the memory of a little version of him, sitting alone in his big room filled with every kind of toy he would have wanted, but no other people in sight. And despite everything, he felt a small surge of gratitude for Liz, for Crona, for Patty and Kid and Tsubaki and Black Star.

 

“Hey, is this an _‘i’_ or an ‘ _f’_?” Crona asked suddenly, leaning over to show a page from their portion of the notebook to Kid.

 

Kid squinted down at the page. “It looks more like an _o_ to me.”

 

Soul felt Liz peer over his shoulder down at his piece of the notebook. “Jesus, who even does this much math in their spare time?”

 

“Maybe it’s blueprints for a doomsday device or something,” Kid suggested with a worried frown.

 

“Doomsday device?” Liz asked incredulously.

 

“You never know.”

 

“I really hope not,” Soul muttered, because wouldn’t _that_ be the greatest thing to deal with on top of everything else? He felt like it should be a general law that a person only had to deal with the threat of an apocalypse once in a lifetime, because that meant he would have already gotten that shit over with thanks to Asura.

 

“If it was important, she might not have left it out on the table for everyone to see,” Tsubaki pointed out. “Especially since it seems like she’s not the kind of person who leaves her stuff out in the open.”

 

“It does seem like she was taken by surprise though,” Kid said. “From what you told me, she probably heard Soul and Maka coming in, panicked, and ran to hide in the other room. She might have just forgotten to grab it.”

 

“That seems more likely,” Soul said, thinking back to how she had been just hiding in the closet, likely waiting for them to leave. Or maybe she had been drawing another transportation circle, but they had caught her before she could finish it. “We took a look around after she got away, and it was pretty obvious she had been camping out there for a day or two.”

 

“Why though?” Liz asked. “She has a perfectly good hotel room here, doesn’t she?”

 

“Maybe she was trying to hide from someone,” Tsubaki suggested. “From us, maybe. Do you think someone tipped her off that we were looking for her?”

 

“I doubt she wouldn’t have known that Dad would send someone after her,” Kid murmured thoughtfully. “Though it’s possible someone tipped her off that we were waiting for her here.”

 

“So she was trying to wait us out, then,” Liz muttered. “You think it was Vana that gave her the tip?”

 

The thought hit Soul like a ton of bricks, because he hadn’t even _thought_ of that.

 

“I doubt that,” Kid replied. “She’s been completely reliable in the past. And we don’t even know if that’s what Annie was doing.”

 

“She knows her, though,” Liz pointed out with a scowl. “Since she was a kid, from what it sounds like. Did anybody else think it was sketchy how quickly she was willing to turn her in like she was?”

 

“I mean, if she was planning to screw us over for Annie’s sake, she probably wouldn’t have admitted that she knew her,” Soul said. 

 

“I don’t know,” Liz replied, crossing her arms. “The way she talks about Annie, it almost seems personal.”

 

“I noticed that too,” Tsubaki said with a worried frown. “It probably is a good idea to keep an eye on her-”

 

A knock on the door cut off any further suggestions, and made all of them jump.

 

“Knock knock,” A familiar voice croaked, muffled from behind the door.

 

“Speaking of,” Kid muttered as got up from where they had all crowded around the bed, and headed towards the motel door.

 

“What’s she doing here?” Soul heard Liz mutter as Kid opened the door.

 

“Hello, Vana,” He greeted.

 

“Hello yourself.” The old witch hobbled into the room with a gnarled wooden cane that looked like a piece of bark torn directly off a tree, before blinking towards the bed. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but it looks like you’re missing a few of your numbers.”

 

“Black Star took a walk,” Kid replied, easily.

 

“And Pigtails?”

 

“She...also went for a walk.”

 

“Right.” She squinted, like she was having a hard time seeing him. “So, I need you kids out of here.”

 

Kid blinked. “Huh?”

 

“Unless you want to pay for this room instead.” She scowled at them, as if she was accusing them of something. “Because I’m not doing it-” Her eyes caught on the torn-up notebook, and the cover in Soul’s hands, and she suddenly went still.

 

“I’ll have to talk to the manager then,” Kid replied, following her gaze over to the pieces of the notebook, before meeting it again halfway. “What brought this on?”

 

“Well, Annie just gave me a call.”

 

That got his attention. That got everyone’s attention, very, very quickly.

 

“Wait, _what?”_ Liz demanded.

 

“What did she say?” Crona asked, eyes wide.

 

“Do you know where she called from?” Soul demanded. “Did she tell you anything?”

 

Vana just raised an eyebrow at Kid.

 

Kid rolled his eyes, but he gave her a nod. “If you’re helpful, I’ll call Father to wire more money.”

 

Vana gave him a curt nod, before sitting down in a nearby chair and smoothing her skirt almost primly.

 

“She didn’t tell me much,” she went on. “She just called me to let me know she didn’t need me to hold a room for her anymore. I did try to trace her, but the call didn’t last long enough.”

 

For the first time, Soul wondered what exactly Vana did with herself, other than keeping up with the gossip, making shady friends, and brewing illicit potions. She likely made a good living, especially if the DWMA regularly paid her thousands of dollars for help in hunting down rogue witches, but for some reason she lived in an off-end motel in Vegas (that wasn’t even on the Strip, for fuck’s sake) and spent most of her time brewing potions. And at the same time (unless there was some sort of spell for that), she apparently had a resources to trace a phone call.

  

“But she did offer me a tidbit I didn’t expect.” Vana crossed her arms. “She told me that she’s looking for her father.”

 

“Her father?” Tsubaki echoed.

 

“I thought  he died,” Soul said, lowly, mind flashing back to the dusty, abandoned workshop, the old photographs.

 

“I did. And from I can tell, I’m not wrong. However, she’s convinced otherwise.” She let out a sigh. “To be fair, they never did find the whole body.”

 

There was a distinct pause before anyone spoke.

 

“I’m sorry, _what?”_ Liz said, flatly, as Patty’s head finally jerked away from the television.

 

“What do you mean they didn’t find the whole body?” Kid asked, sounding somewhat pensive. “How exactly did Haru Saiko die?”

 

“He jumped off a bridge on the anniversary of his wife’s death,” Vana said, flatly. “Right before a nearby dam opened into the rapids. He was probably torn to shreds, and sure enough, the only thing the authorities found was one of his limbs.”

 

Soul couldn’t help but grimace at that mental image, and from the looks on his friends’ faces, he wasn’t the only one.

 

“Yikes,” Crona mumbled.

 

 _No kidding._ “Was the limb...definitely his?” Soul asked, warily.

 

“Yep,” Vana replied, dully.

 

“So what, does she think he cut off his own arm?” Liz asked disbelievingly.

 

“Foot, actually,” Vana said, almost absent-mindedly. “And I guess so.”

 

“Would he have?” Kid asked, looking disturbed at the suggestion.

 

“Eh…” Vana winced. “I mean, he was a bit of a whackadoodle, but...honestly, I doubt it. I could be wrong though. I didn’t think Annie would kill someone, but here we are.”

 

“What do you mean by that?”

 

“Well, Haru was...obsessive, to say the least. He didn’t seem to think about anything other than his wife and his work. He pretty much fell into a downward spiral after Jana died. He and Annie would fight all the time about when she was growing up. It would get pretty ugly.”

 

“So she thinks he faked his death?” Soul asked, mind once again flashing back to the office, the creepy masks, the photographs. Of the angry little girl, the odd-looking lady.

 

“Yep. She said he sent her a letter.”

 

 _“What?”_ Kid exclaimed.

  

Vana shrugged, but she had a pained expression that was hard to miss. “I don’t even know. To tell you the truth, she sounded half-crazy. All panicked and babbling. Though now I know why she was in a state.” She nodded at the torn-up notebook. “Clearly, she had just gotten away.”

 

“Yeah,” Soul replied, flatly. “Anything else?”

 

“Not really. Most of what she said didn’t make any sense, and I already told you what I could gather. It really does sound like she’s going crazy.” Vana looked grim. “She even claimed she’s been hallucinating.”

 

Kid frowned. “Hallucinating?”

 

“Yeah. She said she was hearing piano music out of nowhere.”

 

“Interesting,” Kid said after a pause.

 

“What kind of music?” Patty asked curiously.

 

“Piano music. Lot’s of Beethoven, apparently.”

 

_Beethoven._

 

_(the book he used when he was learning to play the piano was called “Beethoven for Beginners”, he played the scales over and over to the point until he grew sick of hearing even the word Beethoven-)_

 

“Interesting,” Kid said, finally, almost hesitantly.

 

“She said something about having weird dreams about drowning in the ocean too,” Vana went on.

 

Something clicked in the back of Soul’s mind, like a needle connecting against the surface of a record.

 

_(sea water, creating puddles in the checkered floor that reflect the demon’s smile-)_

 

“Piano music?” Soul echoed. “Drowning?”

 

“I know, it didn’t make any sense,” Vana went on. “But yeah. That’s about it.”

 

“Well, they say murder can send you off the deep end,” Liz muttered. "Jesus, this is getting fucked up..."

 

“Thank you, Vana,” Kid offered. “You’ve given us a lot to consider.”

 

“No problem.” The old woman pulled herself to her feet. “Now either get out of this room, or go talk to the manager. I’m not paying for it anymore.”

 

“Of course. Liz, Patty, come with me?”

 

“Sure,” Soul heard Liz reply, felt the mattress underneath them shift as Liz and Patty climbed off. “Can we stop by the vending machine on the way back, I’m starving-”

 

_(it’s her song, playing in his ears, even as he’s pulled under and the taste of salt taints his mouth and scorches his lungs-)_

 

“You okay, Soul?”

 

Crona’s voice was jarring, and made him jump.

 

“Yeah,” Soul replied, placing his portion of the notebook in Tsubaki’s lap and scooting forward off the bed. “I can run by the vending machine, actually, if you want Liz. Just tell me want you want.”

 

“Corn nuts,” Liz replied, almost automatically.

 

“Oreos!” Patty chimed in.

 

"Doritos," Crona added.

 

“Are you sure you’re okay, Soul?” Tsubaki asked, somewhat warily.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Mind racing, Soul barreled past Vana, Kid, and the Thompsons, grabbing his wallet on the way out, and through the door.


	8. drops of salt water and a galactic soul

****_They flocked to him because he was young and attractive and fun and successful and hardly ever wore his wedding ring when he wasn’t around his family._

 

 _The flocked to him because he was important. He was a Death Scythe. He was_ **_the_ ** _Death Scythe._

 

_He had everything he could ever want- a nice home, a beautiful wife, and most importantly, the most brilliant, beautiful little girl in the world. He had achieved by nineteen what most men didn’t until they were thirty._

 

**_(and by the time he was thirty, he would have lost it all)_ **

 

_Maka was his world. It was astounding how much his world narrowed when she was born, how much his priorities shifted- every little cough he was there to check her temperature, make sure she wasn’t choking. If she was lying still in her crib, he would move his fingertips under her nostrils, just to check to make sure she was breathing out little puffs of air. He bought her all the cute outfits he possibly could, had pictures of her plastered on the corkboard in his office, store en masse in his wallet._

 

**_(In hindsight, the change was almost jarring, because although he would never admit it, he wasn’t at all ready to be a father)_ **

 

_Kami often said that he spoiled her, but he didn’t care. She was the most precious thing in the world, and he wanted to give her everything he possibly could._

 

_But she or her mother weren’t there…_

 

 _He never liked his wedding ring. He didn’t like rings in general, in all honesty, in the same way some people just didn’t like necklaces or earrings or makeup, but he was happy to wear one for his wife, to show that he loved her. Because he did love her._ _He loved them both so much._

 

_Even when Kami yelled at him for breaking his promises again. Even when his daughter told him flatly that she hadn’t bothered to get him anything for father’s day._

 

**_(And why would she?)_ **

 

_They’d both given him so many chances. But eventually, he couldn’t even bring himself to go to the marriage counseling sessions._

 

**_(Was he even trying, if he loved them why couldn’t he barely put in the bare minimum, why couldn’t he tear himself away from another woman’s arms when the woman he’d die for without hesitation had already agreed to marry him, why did he dread going home even though he missed seeing his daughter-)_ **

 

**_(Why did it almost feel like a relief when the love of his life finally dropped the heavy stack of divorce papers in his lap?)_ **

 

_He drove her away, drove her into bitterness and a hatred that was directed at him. He became a weapon that anyone could wield, except for his actual meister, because no matter how much he adjusted his wavelength, there was no way she would let him in anymore._

 

_And there was the small, childish part of him that was far too used to doing whatever it wanted that stomped it’s foot and whined, but it was no match for the crushing realization that hit him far too late._

 

_The realization that he, to put it simply, had fucked up badly._

 

* * *

 

He made sure he was alone first. Luckily enough, the motel was pretty much devoid of guests, especially up on the second floor.

 

 _Sometimes souls fracture after death,_ Kid had said. _A part of it attaches to an object or a person. Usually it leads to possession._

 

Soul was ninety percent sure he wasn’t possessed. But at the same time…

 

_(He could remember the pull and weight of the ocean, the taste of salt water-)_

 

He closed his eyes. Took a step forward.

 

**.**

 

**.**

 

And he was immediately faced with the demon, grinning smugly behind the surface of the mirror.

 

He ignored it. Turned his back to it even, feet sloshing and kicking up waves through the sea water that was up to his ankles.

 

“Death Scythe,” he called. “Come on old man, get over here.”

 

No response.

 

“You’re not calling out to him,” He heard the demon say from behind him. “Can’t exactly pick up a signal when there’s no signal to pick up, can you?”

 

Soul gritted his teeth, but he realized grudgingly enough that the demon was right.

 

“Fine,” he muttered. _“Death Scythe!_ I don’t care if you’re moping! Or if you’re pissed at me! Get over here!”

 

But this time, he actually _called_ . He reached forward, extending a connection out from his soul in order to pull in a stronger, older wavelength _…_

 

And it wasn’t long at all before another hand, larger and colder than his own, gripped his.

 

“What the hell are you _doing?”_ Death Scythe’s voice demanded.

 

Soul sucked in a breath, stunned despite that a part of him had already known it would work.

 

“Testing a theory,” He replied, readily releasing the hand gripping his own.

 

Death Scythe blinked at him, at their surroundings, seemingly finally realizing where they where. He stared down at his feet through the water, around at the torn-down curtains and the soaked piano behind Soul.

 

“We're back here again." Death Scythe sounded wary. “What the hell did you just do? What is this place?”

 

“You don’t know?” The demon chortled before Soul had the chance to respond himself. “Come on now, aren't you supposed to be an expert on this sort of thing?”

 

Death Scythe’s brows furrowed as he recoiled. “You again! What  _are_ you?!”

 

“I’m the manifestation of Soul’s madness that he keeps under lock and key, in order to prevent me from taking over his mind, obliterating his identity, and causing him to destroy everything he loves,” The demon said, far too cheerfully for Soul’s liking.

 

Death Scythe’s eyes bugged.

 

“Yeah, that’s enough of that.” Soul stepped around and in front of Death Scythe, blocking the demon, and the rest of the room, from his view. “We need to have a talk, old man.”

 

Death Scythe just stared at him in response, and Soul could see the realization slowly dawning. “This- this is your soul. I’m in your soul.”

 

“Yeah, you are.” And Soul had to admit, he wasn’t exactly happy about it. It felt plain _weird_ having anyone other than Maka in that room. He had to fight the urge to push the unfamiliar wavelength out, an urge that felt almost natural to his very being. “Like I said, I’m testing a theory. Or at least, trying to.”

 

“Theory?” Death Scythe echoed, brows furrowing and looking utterly baffled. “What theory?”

 

“Mind if I give a spoiler alert?” The demon called.

 

Soul sighed, supposing that he would finally be getting an explanation for the demon's more-smug-than-usual behavior, before turning. "Alright, what do you know?"

 

The surface of the mirror was definitely more cracked than usual, and the demon certainly looked smug. And the mirror itself was definitely larger for sure- it towered over Soul, almost up to the ceiling, its shadow stretching across almost the entire length of the room.

 

“More than you’d think,” The demon replied, grinning. “Would you like me to lend a hand and give you some context on what’s happening here?”

 

“How would you know anything?” Death Scythe asked. He looked wary, speaking to the demon, but there was enough steel in his voice to take Soul by surprise. 

 

“I exist through Soul's madness,” the demon replied. “I’m a part of him, and he’s already accepted me as such, even if he still doesn’t like me that much. His soul is where I live, so naturally, if a part of it is damaged- or in this case, broken into by a rather troublesome intruder-” He gestured at Death Scythe pointedly, making the man’s eyes widen

 

“So his soul _is_ attached to mine, then,” Soul said, eyes only on the demon.

 

 _“Ding ding ding,”_ The demon chortled.

 

_Well, fuck me._

 

“Hold on, _what?”_ Death Scythe yelped, voice pitched up to a near-squawk. "Come again?"

 

Soul swallowed, before turning back to face Death Scythe again, whose eyes had suddenly got wide. “When I talked to Kid, he said that sometimes souls fracture after death-”

 

“That’s rare,” Death Scythe immediately cut in. “And usually that leads to possession, or the soul just splintering off and dying. I’m not _possessing_ _you,_ there's no way-”

 

“Then explain why you’re here!” Soul snapped. “Explain why _this-”_ He gestured at the water soaking their feet, flooding the room. “Is here! This is you _,_ right? This is a part of your soul, and it's _literally_ leaking into mine!”

 

“I don’t-” Death Scythe stammered, staring down at the water at his feet.

 

“I've been dreaming of memories that aren't mine,, and that's because they're _not_  mine. They're yours. Somehow, we're intertwined, somehow you're dripping into my dreams and my wavelength, and- come on, just look at this!" Soul threw his hands up around the room, the soaking wet room that was filled with the sound of crashing waves on the other side of the walls. "This isn't normal! And it shows- when Maka tried to hold me earlier, she couldn’t do it. When I reached out to her, all I got was you. You were blocking the way. I think you're projecting through me, somehow, and that's why nobody can see you except for me."

 

“Maka could see me though!” Death Scythe blurted out, but his expression was troubled and thoughtful and Soul could tell he was seriously considering what he was saying. “Well- she could for a minute. And- and _Annie Channon_ could too, why the _hell-?”_

 

Soul took a deep breath. It was disturbing to think about, to say the least, but… “Because I think you’re somehow attached to Annie too.”

 

Death Scythe looked like he had been smacked upside the head. “I’m sorry, _what-?”_

 

“Vana came by our room a little while ago. Apparently Annie called her to tell her she didn’t need the room anymore, but apparently she doing a bit of ranting and raving. And apparently, she’s been having weird dreams. _About drowning in the ocean._ And, apparently, hearing piano music.” Soul gestured to the piano behind him pointedly.

 

Death Scythe was open-mouthed at that point, but his wide eyes were staring off past Soul, as if he was trying to think that over. But to be fair, it was a lot to process.

 

“I don’t know,it _kinda_ sounds like a stretch, but the more I think about it? It doesn't seem like a coincidence. And  _also_ , she's apparently been having nightmares about drowning. _Just like I have_. I mean, I could be wrong, but-”

 

“So you’re telling me you think my soul splintered?” Death Scythe managed, once he seemed to have gotten his jaw to work right again. “And that- a part of it went into you, and then into her?”

 

“I think it’s something like that, yeah.” To Soul's utter frustration, Death Scythe still sounded somewhat skeptical. Which, in all honesty was kind of to be expected, but Soul couldn't help but feel a surge of frustration. “Think about it. When you stepped into that workroom, close enough to where two parts of your soul were theoretically in, you like- flickered into plain view again, for a little bit, at least, and that's when Maka saw you. Maybe it's because the two halves of your soul were close enough to cause some sort of reaction."

 

Or something like that, anyway. Soul's head was swimming a little trying to put all of this to words so that Death Scythe could understand where he was coming from, but Death Scythe's increasingly frantic expression seemed to indicate that he was doing a decent job so far.

 

“But I don’t _feel_ any different.” Death Scythe was almost wild-eyed at this point, bringing a tentative hand up over his chest, right where his soul would be. “I don’t _feel_ like I’ve splintered- I feel fine. There's no way I wouldn't feel anything-”

 

“And this is where I cut in,” the demon said, almost smugly. “You don’t feel any different because your soul hasn’t just attached with Soul’s here. It’s actually completely fused with his.”

 

Both of them froze, Death Scythe with his hand braced into his shirt.

 

“Come again?” Soul asked, slowly.

 

The demon grinned. “See, your soul-” He gestured at Death Scythe. “Somehow became _so_ splintered around the time you died that it needed another soul to leech off of in order to maintain itself. From what I can tell, it fractured into several pieces. One piece clung to Miss Channon's in order to survive, and the other clung to Soul here.”

 

“So-” Soul shared a wide-eyed glance with Death Scythe before continuing. “Wait-”

 

“Are you saying the only reason I still exist right now is because my soul bonded itself to his and Annie's?” Death Scythe demanded, voice forceful despite how he very visibly paled.

 

“Pretty much,” The demon replied cheerfully. "And from the looks of it, you and Soul are practically the same person, in a way.”

 

“The hell does that mean?” 

 

“It means that if someone tried to look to look for you, all they’d see is one soul. From the outside, which is what most people with soul perception see, there's only one soul residing in Soul's chest, because the piece of Death Scythe's soul had to burrow itself deep in order to keep itself from fizzling out.” The demon smirked. “Better get used to one another.”

 

 _That must be why even Lord Death can’t sense him,_ Soul thought, weakly.

 

“How do we undo it?” Death Scythe demanded.

  
  
“Whoa, I'd slow down if I were you” The demon said, gleefully. “If you detach yourself from Soul here, you’ll cease to exist. There’s enough of your soul missing that there’s no possible way it can survive on it’s own for long.”

  
  
“There’s got to be a way!" Soul burst out, spinning over to face Death Scythe. “My wavelength’s all out of whack with you here, there’s no way I’ll be able to resonate with Maka-”

 

“Oh, it’s more than that.” The demon looked positively _delighted_ at that point. “You can’t reach her at all, Soul. Especially as long as Death Scythe is still here.” He gestured up at the windows, dim and completely devoid of sunlight, of _her_ sunlight that could light up even the darkest parts of him. “And who knows? Even if you do somehow get him out, your wavelength could still be altered. And you’ll _never_ feel her wavelength again.”

 

 _“Stop it,”_ Soul snarled, but the simple idea jolted him to his very core, sent a burning cry of _NO_ rattling throughout his entire body-

 

“Oh come on now, it wouldn’t be that bad,” the demon cooed. “You’d still have _me,_ at least.”

 

“Oh, and that’s why you’re so damn cheerful, isn’t it?” Soul spat out. “You think there’s a chance you can try to drag me back down again if Maka’s not in the picture, don’t you? Well, that’s not fucking happening, you hear me you bastard? You are staying in that mirror, and you are _not coming out_.”

 

“I don’t even really need to take you over,” The demon sneered. “I’ve been having more fun than I have in a long time. And I think I would be even if Death Scythe wasn’t here. She’s much more closed off than usual, after all. I’d bet you couldn’t even reach her anyways.”

  
  
“That’s _not_ true-”

 

“Oh, but isn’t it? She hasn’t been acting like herself, after all. I bet she’s _spiraling_." The demon's grin was terrible, and it sent cold, sharp spines coiling around in Soul's insides. "I bet she’s spiraling so far down that you couldn’t reach her even if you _tried-”_

 

A hand suddenly clapped over Soul’s shoulder, and when he glanced up he was met with the sight of Death Scythe sending the demon a vicious glare that cut the demon off short.

 

Which, in retrospect, was kind of impressive, considering he wasn’t even in ghost form.

 

“You,” Death Scythe growled. “Are really annoying. And don’t you _dare_ bring my daughter into your _bullshit.”_

 

“I’m telling nothing but the truth-” the demon began, hands raising in a placating gesture. "No need to be so aggressive-"

 

Death Scythe suddenly stalked forward, giving Soul a start as he slammed a hand into the surface of the mirror. The demon gave a start, recoiling back from the impact, mouth clamping shut and eyes going wide in surprise.

 

“You,” Death Scythe growled. “Are going to nothing but _back off._ So I’m a part of Soul now, yeah? Great. Just so you know, I’m not him. And I don’t have to put up with you, especially if it hurts my daughter.”

 

“You don’t-” The demon tried to squeak back, looking taken aback.

 

“Come on kid.” Death Scythe stepped back, towards Soul again. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

 

“Wait, what-?” Soul tried to respond, only to be cut off by Death Scythe gripping his shoulder, felt a _pull-_

 

**.**

 

And suddenly, instead of standing calf-deep in water, he was standing on a rolling expanse of golden sand. Water instead lapped at his toes, the sound of waves filled his ears.

 

He could see the water stretch out all the way to what he assumed was a horizon line, but the blue of the water somehow seemed to blend with the blue of the sky, making it hard to distinguish between the two. In the distance, he could swear he could hear the sound of seagulls trilling, and there was the faint smell of something stickly sweet...popsicles, maybe?

 

“Hope you don’t mind,” he heard Death Scythe mutter, and he turned to see the man watching him, almost warily.

 

It didn’t take long for him to connect the dots, though it did take him a minute to regain at least some of his bearings. “This is your soul.”

 

“Yeah. Well, a part of it anyway, apparently.” Death Scythe turned from him. “It took me less than a second to find a link from yours to mine, and from the looks of it, you’re right. I don’t even have to focus that hard to see where we overlap.”

 

“You can see that?” Soul asked faintly, still completely taken aback by the fact that, okay, he was apparently in Death Scythe’s soul now. That was new. And weird.

 

Death Scythe just looked at him. “You can’t?”

 

Actually, he _could._ And that was weird too- all he really had to do was look up at the sparkling blue sky, past the puffy white clouds, to see a familiar checkered floor. It felt like he could just reach up and pull himself back into the familiar recesses of his own soul.

 

“Why would you bring me here?” Soul asked.

 

“Because it sounded like that thing was getting to you. Better to shut it up and take a breather.” Soul turned just in time to see Death Scythe flop down onto the sand, flexing his feet and stretching his toes out to reach the waves lapping against the shore. “Just for future reference, it isn’t exactly healthy to spend time wallowing inside your own soul. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I kinda get the impression you do a lot.”

 

“Uh- right.” Soul couldn’t help but feel taken aback. There was a lot to process, there.

 

For instance, he wasn't used to being near anyone else's soul but Maka's. It caused an uncomfortable twist in his stomach, the feeling like he was intruding, as if he had barged into a beautiful shining mansion and treaded all over it with dirty shoes covered in mud and dog shit. Except Death Scythe had invited him in, and he was acting like it was no big deal, which felt plain _weird_. 

 

Unsure of what else to do, Soul awkwardly hovered over Death Scythe for a second before eventually giving in and joining him down on the sand. He wasn’t exactly a fan of sand (something Maka teased him endlessly about when he told her this), but the sand in Death Scythe’s soul was fine and soft, not as much of an irritation. He probably didn’t have to worry about it getting all over his clothes anyway considering it wasn’t his actual physical body in question.

 

“You don’t think this is kinda weird?” Soul asked, somewhat hesitantly.

 

Death Scythe blinked at him. “No. Why?”

 

“It’s just…” _I feel like I’m a little kid on his way to a birthday party that went to the wrong house. Except the people who own the house seem fine with a random kid just wandering in for some reason._

 

“I felt... I dunno." Soul didn't want to admit how weird it felt, bringing Death Scythe into his soul. About him seeing the demon. "You don't feel weird about having me here?"

 

“Why would I feel weird about it?” Death Scythe asked. “It’s no big deal.”

 

Soul stared. "Seriously?"

 

“Well, I wouldn’t like you wandering too deep, but overall, I don’t really care,” Death Scythe amended.

 

"That's fair, I guess," Soul mumbled.

 

Death Scythe eyed him. “A lot of people are going to be wielding you when you become a Death Scythe, kid. Letting people in is just something you’re going to have to get used to.”

 

"Yeah, I know, I know." That was the one thing about being a Death Scythe that Soul would admit (to himself, at least) he wasn't exactly comfortable with. And he didn't want to admit it because of how stupid it was. He was a _weapon_ for god's sake, gunning to be a Death Scythe, and part of being a Death Scythe was being at the disposal of anyone who needed you and allowing them to access your soul's power.

 

But it was one thing with Maka, with his friends, with the people he knew and trusted. It was different with strangers, with people he didn't really know, even though being at any given meister's disposal when needed would hopefully be part of his job one day. It's something he'd always known he needed to work on, but never really did because he'd never really had to.

 

 

Death Scythe shrugged. “Besides, I’ve already seen the inside of your soul. Might as well make it even.”

 

“...I guess.” Come to think of it, it was probably a given that Death Scythe wouldn't have the problem that Soul had. He was just that type of person, one that Soul definitely wasn't. “It’s just...I don’t know. I guess I’m just used to only having Maka near my soul.”

 

Death Scythe was quiet.

 

And...it was probably a mistake even mentioning Maka.

 

Soul sighed, and focused on the ocean in front of him. Wondered, briefly, how far he could swim if he jumped in. How far Death Scythe’s soul really extended from the inside.

 

“I guess I can see what you’re saying,” Death Scythe said after a while. “There are...certain people that you’re more willing to let in than others. People you’re willing to show everything to, and not just...well, the safe parts.”

 

“Is this the part where I ask you why you’re so freaked out about Maka knowing that you’re hanging around?” Soul asked, wryly.

 

Death Scythe didn’t respond. But Soul could see how his frame tensed.

 

“It would be nice if this was the part where you give me an actual answer,” Soul muttered.

 

“You wouldn’t understand,” Death Scythe mumbled, so quietly Soul almost couldn’t hear him.

 

Soul sighed, before pitching his voice up in a falsetto. _“No mom, you wouldn’t understand.”_ When Death Scythe gave him an incredulous, perplexed look, he went on. “Sorry. That's how you sound, though.”

 

Death Scythe’s eyes narrowed, his demeanor turning much more defensive almost immediately. “Bug _off.”_

 

“Well, you’re not really giving me much to work with,” Soul grumbled. He was half expecting to be electrocuted or for everything to go dark or something, but the sun remained shining, the water remained calm. It was incredibly deceiving. “Are you mad that I told her?”

 

“Yes! No. Death Scythe glowered down at the sand, sounding completely miserable as he spoke. “I don’t know.”

 

Soul sighed. “Look, I get it-”

 

“No, you _don’t,”_ Death Scythe snapped, voice pitched up and wobbling. Clearly fighting back tears.

 

 _And here we are on the verge of a tantrum again._  Although, considering the circumstances, maybe Soul will let him have this one. Maybe.

 

“Okay, I don’t.” _And I’m glad I don’t, honestly._ “But you know what I do get? That Maka, _your fucking daughter,_ has been miserable since you left. You don’t think she’d appreciate a chance to say goodbye?”

 

 _“I don’t want to say goodbye!”_ Death Scythe burst out, and a wave suddenly crashed against the shoreline instead of gently rolling up, sending a spray of sea water in their faces.

 

Soul recoiled instinctively at the scent, at the taste of seawater, but Death Scythe didn’t even seem to notice.

 

“I never want to say goodbye! Especially not like this, like-” Death Scythe choked on a sob, clapping a hand over his mouth.

 

Soul watched, almost helplessly as Death Scythe’s frame quivered, clearly fighting back tears. A breakdown, plain and simple as that.

 

Tiny little probes of guilt niggled at him, then, because fuck, he didn't mean to make Death Scythe  _cry._ Sure he was frustrated with him, but... 

 

“Like what?” He asked, softly.

 

Death Scythe gave a loud sniff before answering. “I never got the time to- to change things. For- for her. For _Maka.”_

 

Soul swallowed. _Was he referring to his divorce…?_ “You know...you know you can’t change any of what happened with her mom, right?”

 

“Yeah, I fucking know that!” Death Scythe snapped, but it tapered off into more of a whimper than anything else. “I- I know I blew it with Kami. I’m not that much of an idiot. But- but  I’d always hoped that if Maka could see-”

 

His own sobs cut him off again, and he suddenly pulled his knees to his chest, buried his face in his arms, a gesture that took Soul aback because of how borderline _childlike_ it was. And that was something that unexpectedly hit Soul particularly hard, because he’d seen _Maka_ do the same thing, turn away so that he couldn’t see her face when she cried-

 

“I- I- I hoped that if Maka could see how much I loved her-” Death Scythe’s voice wobbled, muffled. “That- that she wouldn’t hate me. That she’d love me again.”

 

 _She has every right to hate you,_ was Soul’s first thought. _She has every right to hate you. You had tons of chances to make things better, and you didn’t. Every time. You didn't even have to cheat on her mom in the first place. You could have actually been a decent human being and put your family first. You could have put more effort into not hurting her._

 

_And now you're crying because it's too late. But that's kind of your fault in a way, isn't it?_

 

 

“And I don’t want her to think I never loved her.” Death Scythe lifted his head up enough to scrub his eyes, but at the rate the tears were clearly coming, the efforts seemed pretty much useless. “I just want her to know her Papa loves her, _so much,_ that she was the best thing that ever happened. I don’t want- I don’t want her to remember me as just- just a useless, good-for-nothing _man_ , I want her to remember a Papa who- who _loved her,_ despite the fact that I- that I probably wasn’t even ready to be a papa in the first place- _”_

 

That last part was a bit jarring, and Soul’s mind flashed back to the photographs. To how young Death Scythe had looked, young enough to somehow still look like he had a baby face in some of them.

 

It was weird to think about, so it was easy to forget. 

 

“And- and a part of me would almost rather- rather die with her feeling sorry for me. I’d- I’d almost rather her remember me as the poor sap that got mu- mu- _murdered_ , than a dirty, _rotten_ bastard that-” Death Scythe clamped a hand over his mouth, but Soul could hear the whimper come out of it nonetheless. “That _hurt her._ And it’s so- _it’s so fucking selfish_ , but it’s not like that’s _new_ for me, and it’s not like I have anything left anyways, and- _and what kind of parent hurts their child?_ Tha- that’s no real _parent-”_

 

It was clear he was trying to choke out more, but the sobs were growing so much stronger, so much more steady, that it was clearly difficult. And that time, Soul did place an admittedly hesitant hand on his shoulder, because what else could he do? But at the same time, it didn’t help the pang in his chest _._ It felt like too much of a simple, meaningless gesture, one that couldn’t stand up under the sheer weight of the past and present, and a terrifying, uncertain future. Or lack thereof, in Death Scythe's case.

 

But what else could he do?

 

 _It's partly your fault,_ part of his brain whispered accusingly at the wrecked, pathetic figure next to him, scornfully remembering Maka's crumpled face, her lone figure across from where he had stood next to Blair.  _Cool men don't cheat._

 

 _But Death Scythe's not a cool man,_ whispered another part of his brain.  _He never was._

 

_And he knows that._

 

_He knows._

 

He knows.

 

 

 

“You have no idea how to face her, do you?” Soul asked, trying to keep his tone gentle. Trying not to escalate the crying any further.

 

The only response was a small, pathetic whimper.

 

“But you don’t want to at least apologize?” Soul tried. “At least- at least tell her all that?”

 

“Words don’t do any good if you hardly ever have the actions to back them up.” Death Scythe’s voice was strung tight, wobbling and frail like strings about to snap. “If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that. And even if I do, what if I just hurt her more? She- she looked so _lost_ when you told her I was here. I can’t- I can’t hurt her. If- if there’s _anything_ I do now, if there’s anything that _matters-_ it’s _that.”_

 

Soul worried his lower lip with his teeth, hard enough to cause the fine points to draw blood. The sting was cathartic, almost. _Yeah._ _He knows._

 

“But you do know she loves you, right?” He asked, quietly

 

Death Scythe finally lifted his head up at him, blinked at him through red and watery eyes.

 

“She does. I know she does.” In the back of his mind, he remembers the photographs, of the stack of photo albums. The reading glasses he glimpsed on Death Scythe’s coffee table, of Maka curled up on the couch, absorbed in her latest book. “And I don’t think she really hates you, either. She told me once that you read to her every night when she was a kid. That she gets her love of reading from you. She has photo albums of you two when she was little, of the two of you on vacations and at the beach.”

 

Death Scythe just stared at him owlishly, still sniffling a little, and Soul took it as his cue to continue.

 

“I mean...look, I can’t speak for Maka. And I wouldn’t try to, anyway. But…I really don’t think she hates you."

 

_She doesn't. She can't. I know her, and I know she doesn't hate you. There's a difference between hate and being fed up with someone's bullshit._

 

"I think she’s more really, really pissed at you than anything else, which is her right to be. But I do think she loves you. I think she loves you more than you think she does. She wouldn’t be as hurt as she is otherwise.”

 

Death Scythe turned away, then, enough that Soul couldn’t see his expression, but he could see how Death Scythe sniffed again and wiped at his eyes.

 

“What happened to you hit her hard.” He felt a lump form in his throat at the memory of a closed door, of a limp and heavy-looking body bag. He swallowed back, hard. “It hit her real hard. I think she’s going to miss you when...when you’re gone for good.”

 

More silence. Death Scythe was suddenly very still, almost eerily so, but Soul caught a glimpse of how his lower lip was still wobbling.

 

“Talk to her,” Soul said, almost pleadingly. _Please._ “You hear me? Tell her everything you told me. She deserves that much, doesn’t she?”

 

Death Scythe buried his head into his arms again, and Soul had to look away in order to properly swallow the lump down his throat.

 

 _You deserved better than this,_ was Soul's sudden thought. _You and Maka both. You deserve way better than this._

 

But some things couldn’t be undone. Like driving someone to the edge and expecting them to come crawling back up without any bitterness, like breaking promises over and over, like getting a bit too careless and letting danger come too close. Too far over the edge. Like death itself.

 

Sometimes, though, you could put it all back together. Assemble what pieces were left, not matter how few there were. Use enough duct-tape until it at least sort of resembles what it was before. Not perfect, not flawless, _definitely_ not like it was before, but better than nothing.

 

Better than not trying at all.

 

The tears seemed like they had stopped, at least a little. Death Scythe wasn’t shaking anymore, that was a start. But there was a dull look in his eyes, and he wasn't looking at Soul. He was staring out at the water, gaze far off in the distance, as if he was trying to place himself into happier times.

 

“How the hell did we get here?” Soul murmured under his breath, soft enough so that Death Scythe couldn’t hear it, glancing up at the sky, the blue sky that thinly veiled his own checkered floored soul.

 

If Death Scythe was alive, they would have never had a talk like this. They sure as hell wouldn't have seen each other's souls, that was for sure. This moment was never supposed to happen, in any form whatsoever.

 

At the very least, there had been a chance in the future where they would have found a mutual respect. Not to the point of soul-sharing, but close enough that they could stand each other. Especially if the Albarn family ever managed to regain some form of stability, one that could work out better for everybody. They would have had to, because Soul couldn’t possibly see a future that wasn’t at Maka’s side. Death Scythe would learn to tolerate him, and him and Maka could go on with their future. All would have been right in the world.

 

That’s what was supposed to have happened. Him and Maka, meister and weapon, with her dumb father always lurking in the background. Because in a weird way, her dumb father was kind of part of the package that came with her. Soul had his stupid quirks and his estranged family and his demon that once tried to take over his soul, and Maka had her book fixation and obsessive study habits and crazy dad. That was just a plain fact, set in stone, something they'd both come to accept over time. That was their consistency, just like how the sky was blue and the grass was green and all that jazz.

 

Instead, Annie fucking Channon had happened, and thrown everything off course.

 

_And she escaped today. We tried her best, but she escaped, and now we don’t know how to find her._

 

That was the worst part, the icing on the cake that left a bitter taste in his mouths. They had no leads, no direction.

 

Then, suddenly, staring up at the sky, Soul had his second major epiphany of the day.

 

_Unless…_

 

Soul got to his feet. “Come on, old man. Pull yourself together. I want to try something else.”

 

“What?” Death Scythe lifted his head up to stare up at him, and Soul was struck suddenly with how _young_ he looked. And again, he remembered that Death Scythe had only been eighteen when Maka had been born. So he was barely thirty then, if Soul’s math was right. And in the grand scheme of things, thirty really wasn’t that old.

 

Death Scythe would have had at least a good ten years left in him. Ten years to make things right, or at least _better_ , with Maka.

 

Soul gritted his teeth, pushed down the sudden influx of anger and bitterness and indignation of how _unfair_ all this was as far down as he could. Now wasn't the time. He didn't want to get distracted from his epiphany. “So you can feel my wavelength through how your soul is attached to mine, right?”

 

Death Scythe sniffed, wiped his eyes again. “Yeah?”

 

Soul locked eyes with him. “Maybe you can do the same with Annie.”

 

Death Scythe was still for a good, long moment. “Come again?”

 

“You heard me. I mean...maybe it’s a long shot, but if a part of your soul is somehow attached to hers too, maybe you could get to her too.”

 

He remained still, and for a second, Soul thought he was going to have to repeat himself before Death Scythe was suddenly pulling himself to his feet.

 

“You’re a genius, kid,” He heard Death Scythe mutter, before the man eyed him. His eyes were still red, but there was definitely a spark there. One that Soul had never seen before since the guy was alive, and Maka was the topic at hand. “You want to tag along?”

 

The change was abrupt- he’d gone from moping on the ground to _that_ in what felt like a flash. Soul was taken aback, but he sure as hell wasn’t complaining. He’d take anything over gross sobbing on any day.

 

“Yeah,” Soul said, immediately, and Death Scythe reached over and gripped his arm.

 

Without warning, the beach faded away

 

**.**

 

and away

 

and away

 

until-

 

They were walking in pitch blackness. Absolute nothing. Soul wasn't even sure what they were walking on, because every semblance of flat surface was just a void of black nothingness.

 

Death Scythe was meanwhile pulling him by the arm, and Soul was practically being dragged behind him.

 

“Keep up or I’m leaving you behind,” Death Scythe grumbled, eyes closed, in a way that reminded Soul of when Maka used her Soul Perception.

 

“Yeah, yeah-” Soul stumbled, trying to regain his composure. He managed to pull out of Death Scythe's grip and stumbled after him, struggling to keep up with Death Scythe's brisk, determined strides. “Jeez, slow down!”

 

Death Scythe ignored him, something Soul was starting to think was just a typical Albarn trait, and continued on.

 

Everything was pitch black, they were literally walking along nothingness, but despite that, Soul could feel their surroundings without warning suddenly _shifting._ Like they were on a globe being spun around over and over again, in search of a small fragment of a continent. And _somehow_ , above logical reason, Soul somehow just knew it was Death Scythe doing it.

 

“How are you doing this?” Soul wondered aloud. He liked to think he wasn’t too shabby at sensing and pulling at wavelengths, but whatever the _hell_ Death Scythe was doing was on a whole other level that he hadn't even known existed.

 

“Shh,” Death Scythe muttered. “You’ll get better at this kind of thing in the future. Probably.”

 

“Better at what?”

 

“Searching for wavelengths.” Soul saw how Death Scythe’s jaw clenched, face scrunched up in concentration, and eyes still closed despite the fact that they were walking. “A lot of the other Death Scythes know how to do it, and it’s something you’ll learn if you become one, though it’s a bit more of my specialty than the others’-”

 

“Wait, look out for the-”

 

Too late. Despite his warning, Death Scythe collided right into the heavy, iron-cast door with enough force to knock him backwards.

 

 _“Shit- !”_ Death Scythe swore, hands coming up to clutch his nose as he stumbled. _“Ow!”_

 

“You alright?” Soul asked, staring up at the door. Asides from its massive size, the other aspect of note was that it was chained completely shut, practically draped in giant silver chains that looked like they weighed several tons.

 

“It shocked me! ” Death Scythe regained his stability with a scowl, before peering up at the door with narrowed eyes.

 

“It shocked you?” Soul asked, reaching towards the chains to give them a half-hearted tug.

 

Instead, he was hit by what felt like a small, but sharp bolt of electricity, arching through his hand and hitting what felt like straight into his chest.

 

"Ow! Sonuva-" He swore as he recoiled, nearly losing his balance and falling on his ass just like Death Scythe had done.

 

“See?” Death Scythe said, and when Soul managed to regain his bearings he saw that the older man was looking the door up and down with furrowed eyebrows, and a look of intense concentration that almost resembled a pout. “The hell is this?”

 

“How should I know?” Soul asked with a wince, shaking out his limbs to try to shake off some of that tingly, electrified feeling.

 

Hesitantly, Death Scythe held a hand out towards the door’s surface, almost as though he wanted to touch it again. For obvious reasons, he didn’t, but he still stood there, palm forward, as his eyebrows arched up.

 

“Death Scythe?” Soul asked, hesitantly, because that expression wasn’t exactly reassuring.

 

Death Scythe pressed his lips together, a troubled look in his eyes. “My soul’s in there.”

 

Soul stared. “Are you sure?”

 

“Pretty damn sure, yeah.” The hand held out towards the door clenched into a fist, and Soul could see the muscles in Death Scythe’s jaw tighten. “But...that barrier...do you feel it?”

 

Soul frowned. “No…” He closed his eyes and focused, not even entirely sure what even looking for…

 

But then, he felt it. It was very faint, but he felt. Concentrating, Soul blocked out all other thought and reached forwards, like he would do if he was trying to reach Maka.

 

It definitely wasn’t Maka, though.

 

Instead, it was what felt like thousands, literal thousands of tiny wavelengths, scattered like hairs on the surface of the door. He could faintly feel a bead of sweat form on his forehead as he focused, as he felt them squirm, felt them thrash like worms dropped in a puddle-

 

Bewildered, and somewhat horrified, Soul felt a gasp escape his lips as he stumbled back, recoiling from- from whatever the hell _that_ was.

 

His head was spinning. Those- those were wavelengths. Thousands and thousands of wavelengths, and where wavelengths were there were always souls-

 

“What the hell is this?” Soul managed, freaked out beyond measure. Never before had he felt so many wavelengths, or even any soul that felt like it was trying to _scream_ so badly.

 

“No idea.” Death Scythe looked equally disturbed. Then he blinked, gaze suddenly turning sharply over Soul’s shoulder. “Hey, do you see that?”

 

Soul turned.

 

He didn’t see it at first. But then he saw a small, distant-looking twinkle, shimmering like a fallen star in the wide expanse of darkness. Then another one joined it, and then another.

 

“That’s weird- hey!” Without a word, Death Scythe had taken off. “What are you doing?”

 

“Checking it out!” Was his only response.

 

“Oh my _god-”_ But he was right at his heels only moments later, following him as they headed towards the stars.

 

But it seemed like the closer they got, the more there were. Twinkle after twinkle began to appear, until Soul began to lose count of how many there were. Not only that, but the black that surrounded them was starting to fade into a bit of blue, a bit of purple, and then one of the stars actually zoomed past them like what looked like a comet.

 

Before he knew it, it was like they were walking in a real-time simulation of the Milky Way. Billions of little stars shimmered around them, shining and twinkling like the tiniest of jewels. Burts of violet and blue and even some pink swirled in with the black, creating a whirlpool of twinkling stars and bright nebulae. When he reached out a hesitant hand to see if he could touch it, the stars simple scattered, then burst, causing a cloud of red hot stardust to puff out around his touch and twinkle out into the dark void.

 

 _Woah,_ was Soul's only though.

 

“Where the hell are we?" He managed.

 

“I think we’re in her soul,” Was Death Scythe’s hesitant response. 

 

That brought him up short. “This is her soul?”

 

“Well, it’s sure as hell not mine." Death Scythe looked just as fascinated with their surroundings as he was. He poked one nearby star, then another, and another, like they were bubbles, and leaving little clouds of stardust in his wake. "Is it yours?”

 

“...Probably not.”

 

Death Scythe suddenly frowned, and Soul followed his gaze.

 

Right across from them, there was a star that looked larger, brighter than the others. It burned and flickered with what looked like the energy of a supernova, a brilliant, blazing white.

 

“Hold onto me,” Death Scythe said, suddenly. “I’m gonna try something.”

 

“What?” Soul asked, but he did as the man asked, gripping onto his arm.

 

Without warning, Death Scythe suddenly reached forward, and wrapped both of his hands over the star.

 

It immediately burst, shooting searing light out through Death Scythe’s fingers and sending what felt like a shockwave through Soul’s system.

 

“What are you doing-?!” Soul tried to yell, only for the light to expand, in a single instant, out of Death Scythe’s hands and swallow them both whole-

 

**.**

 

Music blared, strobe lights flickering dizzyingly, and there were far, far too many people, too many bodies weaving around and practically bouncing off the walls, making too much noise.

 

But it still felt like gravity, the way he was automatically drawn to the far corner, to a slight, pale figure with a thin hand clutched around a beer bottle, sitting under what looked like an oversized, worn bronze painting of a lion with wings, that looked like it had been imprinted onto glass, shattered into a million pieces, and haphazardly glued back together.

 

The change was instant. His body felt odd, transparent and light and just plain _weird._ He felt dazed, but he knew for certain that he was not in anybody's soul anymore.

 

And additionally, at this point, he would know those cold blue eyes anywhere. Annie's hair was tucked into a baseball cap printed with the NASA logo, and her sweatshirt was baggy and loose in a way that all but _screamed_ she was trying to be inconspicuous.

 

“Hey there.” And clearly it wasn’t working, because a man with a sleazy grin that had clearly had too much to drink slid into the barstool next to her. “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven? Because you are one lovely angel.”

 

The only response she gave was through shooting him a glare. But it was a _glare_ , one that completely chilled him to the bone, even though he technically wasn’t even there. Her eyes were a glowing in a way that looked like they were _burning_ with the promise of horrific pain, and they were ringed in dark, kohl-like bags that indicated either insanity, a serious lack of sleep, or both. It was an expression that looked, full stop, no exaggeration, like it had came from the depths of hell, forged from the fieriest and angriest of the suns.

 

The man immediately booked it out of there to make a hasty retreat back into the crowd without a single word, and the glare died down into something considerably less terrifying as Annie picked up her drink again and took a long swig.

 

“I’m going to have nightmares,” He heard Death Scythe mumble- wait, _where the hell was he?!_ “Though to be fair, that was the most basic pick-up line in the book.”

 

“Well well, look what the cat dragged in!” Both Soul and Annie gave a start as a grinning young bartender slid across the counter to face her. “Annie _fucking_ Channon! I had no idea you were back!”

 

“Keep it down, you idiot!” Annie hissed, shooting a frantic glance around her, as if worried someone would listen.

 

The guy in front of her looked bewildered. “Everything alright?”

 

“Y- yeah. Fine. Everything’s fine.” At the guy’s disbelieving expression, Annie scowled. “I said everything’s fine! So wipe that stupid fucking look off your face!"

 

The bartender just snorted. “Well, you're particularly pleasant tonight. When did you get back in town?”

 

“None of your business,” Annie said sharply. “If you want to make yourself useful, get me another one of these.” She slid the apparently-empty bottle across the table.

 

“Hey, just making a conversation. It feels like ages since I’ve seen you around.”

 

“Well, I’m leaving soon,” Annie replied, briskly. “Beer. Now. Chop chop.”

 

“Really?” The guy asked, looking surprised. “Oh, are you waiting for a train to come in?”

 

Annie scowled. “Beer. Now. Jesus christ, am I talking to a tub of lard?”

 

The guy rolled his eyes. “Alright, jeez. Good to see you too, you bitch.” He leaned down under the counter, pulled out another bottle and slid it over to her. “Just so you know, there’s a new boss working here. He’s a lot better at sniffing out fake ID’s, so I’d avoid him if I were you.”

 

“Thanks,” Annie muttered as he left, reaching over for the bottle and popping the cap open.

 

Her hands were visibly shaking, and the way she clenched them around the bottle as she took a drink made it clear she was trying to hide it. She grasped at her hood to pull it roughly over her head, concealing her face from Soul's view.

 

.

 

He felt Death Scythe let go of him, and there they were, back among the galaxy, which looked relatively undisturbed since they left.

 

“What was that?” Soul blurted out almost immediately.

 

“I projected us through her- never mind, I’ll explain later.” Death Scythe’s eyes were wide and frantic. “The train station. It sounded like she was near a train station.”

 

His mind had to take a second to situate himself, to catch up with everything that had happened. “She said she was leaving.”

 

“Did you see the name of the bar anywhere?” Death Scythe demanded.

 

“No, but there was a weird painting over where she was sitting.” Soul’s heart started to pound. “I could google it.”

 

“Either way, we need to go. Right now.” Death Scythe grabbed Soul by the arm, and it wasn’t long before the stars faded away, the view of the galaxy around them fading from his view.


	9. a sparking song and starlight bombs

As it turned out, Liz knew how to hotwire a car.

 

In hindsight, stealing a large white van that looked like it was used to kidnap children probably wasn’t the best solution to the problem of transportation, but they were a bit crunched on time to worry about possibly repercussions asides from leaving a very hasty IOU written with Patty’s bright pink marker.

 

“Wait- so you’re _possessed_ by Papa?” Maka looked _horrified_ as soon as Soul gave everyone an extremely abridged version of what had gone down. Her white gloves were charred completely black, he noticed, feeling a sharp, uneasy pang in his stomach as he noticed them discarded on her lap. For the time being though, he pushed the feeling down, if only because there was too much else that he needed to focus on.

 

“Not possessed- well, kind of possessed. Only a little possessed.” Soul winced, because even he knew how lame that sounded. “I guess his soul completely shattered when he died, and in order to survive it had to attach to mine. And to Annie’s, apparently.”

 

Maka definitely didn’t look any less reassured, and her face had gone very pale. “How did it _shatter?_ Isn’t that really rare?”

 

“I don’t know, and your dad has no idea either, but that’s why nobody else can see him but me. Because he’s pretty much...projecting through me, I guess is the word for it.”

 

Maka very visibly swallowed. It was probably a good idea to give her a minute to let everything sink in, then.

 

“That’s weird,” Black Star said, loudly.

 

“Very weird.” Kid looked unnerved. “But...I suppose it explains a lot.”

 

“No shit.” Black Star’s arms crossed.

 

“That’s how I found Annie, by the way,” Death Scythe piped up. He was wedged in the far back corner, right next to Black Star. “Instead of projecting through you, I projected through her instead.”

 

“Soul, remember at the studio?” Maka said, suddenly. “The ground-up souls?”

 

“Wait- ground-up souls?” Liz’s voice went very high-pitched, though her eyes were still fixed on the road. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

 

“That’s what I sensed back at Annie’s father’s studio,” Maka said, lowly. “Hundreds of souls, completely- completely ground to dust. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

 

There was a pause, as she let that sink in.

 

“Sorry, what?” Death Scythe said, flatly.

 

“Are you serious?” Tsubaki asked, voice tense.

 

“And now Papa- Papa's soul is apparently fractured too.” Maka’s voice was small. “Do- do you think that’s are connected somehow?”

 

“You didn’t mention this.” Kid looked troubled. “How many souls?”

 

“I don’t even know. They were so wrecked it was hard to tell.”

 

“Because the souls of Jana’s victims were never found.” Kid’s expression was grim. “Did you know that?”

 

“Holy shit.” Soul swallowed. “You think…?”

 

“Probably.” Maka’s fists clenched. “Maybe the father was more involved in Jana’s crimes than we thought.”

 

“Alright, as increasingly disturbing as this all is, we should probably be focusing on one thing on a time, right?” Liz’s voice sounded incredibly strained. “Namely, finally bringing this girl in. Crona, have you found that painting?

 

“I was just about to say.” Crona held up Kid’s smartphone, which they were tasked with to Google the painting Soul had described. “Is this it, Soul?”

 

Soul immediately recognized the strange, psychedelic Sphinx face. “Yeah. That’s it. Did you find the bar it’s in?”

 

“Yeah. _The Blue Scarab_. It’s within walking distance of the same train station we arrived from,” Crona replied.

 

“Great, gimme the address,” Liz ordered. “Plug it into Maps or something.”

 

“Trade places with me,” Kid said, sliding out of the driver seat to slide in next to Patty, as Crona dutifully moved up to take his place. “And we’ll come up with a plan.”  


“We should ambush her on the way out,” Maka said. Her expression had narrowed, tight an determined. It was familiar, especially right before a brewing fight, but there was a troubling, brooding glint in her eyes that was deeply unnerving. “Somewhere in between the bar and the train station, preferably as far away from both as possible. We don’t want any civilians getting caught in the crossfire if things get bad. Or for any other civlians to attack us.”

 

“No kidding.” Kid looked troubled. “I talked to Vana when we were sorting out the situation with the hotel room, and we learned something interesting.”  


“Let’s just say she doesn’t have Mommy’s powers,” Liz added. “Crona, no, I said _not_ AroundMe, use Google Maps for god’s sake-”

 

“It’s not opening-” Crona protested.

 

“Yeah, I was wondering about that,” Tsubaki said, brows furrowing. “It uh- didn’t really seem like she was using something similar to her mother’s magic when we fought her. Unless her mother could shoot balls of light at people.”  


“Balls of light?” Soul asked, blinking, because he had _definitely_ missed that.

 

“Right at Black Star’s head,” Tsubaki said, dryly.

 

“She also summoned a freaking vortex,” Black Star was scowling. “Could her mom do that? Soul, ask Death Scythe if her mom could do that. If he’s here, anyway.”

 

“No, she couldn’t,” Death Scythe replied, looking alarmed. “I definitely don’t remember that.”

 

“That probably wasn’t a vortex,” Kid replied dryly. “That was probably a black hole. Apparently she can summon those.”  


 

 _“A black hole?!”_ Death Scythe Scythe’s eyes bugged out.

 

 _“A black hole?”_ Tsubaki echoed. 

 

“Yes. The rest of her magic includes, but is not limited to- teleportation, manipulating gravity, manipulating matter, harnessing _actual starlight_ to throw at or blind people-”

 

“Don’t forget blowing stuff up,” Patty chimed in.

 

“Some people call her the Space Witch,” Kid finished. “Just thought I’d pass on the warning.”

 

Soul’s mind flashed to the (albeit brief) fight back at the studio. The bright white light, the way Annie’s hands glowed like burts of supernovae. How her soul looked like the inside of a planetarium. The _goddamn NASA hat._

 

_The Space Witch._

 

In hindsight, it was really fucking obvious, and he almost felt like kicking himself.  


 

“Manipulating matter,” Maka said, slowly. “Pretty much everything’s made out of matter.”  


 

“Yep,” Kid said, dryly.

 

“Great,” Tsubaki muttered.

 

Black Star snorted. “That doesn’t change anything. She’s still going down.”

 

“Hey Soul, remember what I said about you kids not being overconfident brats?” Death Scythe muttered. “Can you do me a favor and give Black Star here that advice? He doesn’t usually listen, but you never know. Weirder things have happened.”

 

“We do need a plan though,” Soul went ahead and cut in. “We don’t even really know exactly where she is, whether she’s already at the train station or still at the bar or somewhere in-between. She could already be getting on a train for all we know.”

 

“How about we head to her through the train station?” Maka said. “We’ll split up, fan out, scan the place, and then head back to the bar to try to catch her there.”

 

“What if she _is_ already on the train?” Tsubaki asked.

 

“Then we chase that train down,” Maka said dryly. “Derail it if we have to.”

 

Patty grinned, wickedly. _“Yeah.”_

 

"Whatever you gotta do." And Death Scythe actually nodded, in what looked like faint approval. "Just try to minimize the property damage."

 

“Maybe not that,” Soul decided to point out. It was a sad day when he was forced to be the voice of reason, but something had to give. “But we’ll definitely chase it down.”

 

Kid nodded. “Yeah.”

 

“Nice.” Black Star leaned back and stretched, muscles cracking.

 

The car lurched, causing them all to jerk to the side and nearly topple on top of each other.

 

“Son of a-” Liz swore, and Soul heard the gears shift. “Alright, fuck it, everyone hold on-”

 

“Wait, what are you doing-?” Soul started, only for the car to lurch again, speed clearly increasing, and Crona let out a squawk from the front seat as car horns blared.

 

“Breaking multiple traffic laws,” Liz called, cranking the steering wheel to the left, causing the car to swerve sharply to the left and half of its occupants to nearly fall out of their seats.

 

“Goddammit,” Soul thought he heard Kid mutter under his breath.

 

Soul had a death grip on Maka’s arm to keep himself from falling off his seat, and Maka hoisted him back up with one hand.

 

She was visibly tense. Eyes downcast and glowering, shoulders stiff. So he entwined a hand around hers, causing her to look over to him.

 

“It’s gonna be okay,” He mumbled.

 

She just looked at him. “Soul...you can’t resonate with me because of Papa, right?”

 

Soul swallowed. Crap. That would definitely be a problem. “Yeah, pretty much. That’s another thing, we need to figure out how-”

 

“-How we’re going to do this,” Maka finished, voice strained. “I can’t- I’m not going into this fight without you, Soul.”

 

Soul blinked, somewhat taken aback by the conviction in her voice. “You- you won’t be. I’ll be there whether you can use me or not. You know that right?”

 

“Yeah. Right.” Maka’s gaze flickered down from him. “But-”

 

“We can attack first. Hold her off for you.” They both turned towards Tsubaki, who had just spoken. “We’ll give you some time to- figure it out, I guess.”

 

“For sure,” Black Star agreed. “Just get your shit sorted out, all right?”

 

“Hey,” Soul said, a little crossly, because he still couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed with Black Star for earlier, for being so damn harsh.

 

Black Star just shrugged, but he gave Soul a flat, pointed look. “Just saying.”

 

“We’ll be there soon,” Liz called from the front seat. “Get ready.”

 

The car hit a speedbump, causing the rest of them to lurch forward again. Maka’s hand grasped at Soul’s knee for stability, finding his hand not long after. Her fingers clung to his, tight, steadfast, almost a little greedy.

 

And Soul could feel Death Scythe’s gaze on them, expression a bit too neutral for his liking.

 

* * *

 

They had her about a block away from the bar.

 

Him and Maka stood side-by-side, tucked in the shadows behind the walls of a dark alley, watching just as she slipped through a small group of what looked like college kids entering the bar, the smack of her heavy boots against the concrete audible even from across the street.

 

Soul’s heart pounded a little when he saw her figure cutting through the shadows cast by the streetlights, cap pulled down low to hide her face, ponytail trailing behind her. It was starting to rain, light droplets of water beginning to patter softly against his face, and he saw her tuck the end of her ponytail in her sweater.

 

They were completely alone on the street. The college students were disappearing from sight, talking and laughing. The buildings around them were mostly old, hollowed out and abandoned, and what few that weren’t instead had dimmed lights.

 

“She’s right there Soul,” he heard Maka hiss.

 

And she was _._ Annie Channon, Death Scythe’s killer, in the flesh.

 

Forcing himself to tamper down some of the adrenaline starting to pump through his system, Soul found his voice. “Are Black Star and Kid and the rest of them close behind us-”  


Almost on cue, a torrent of bright bullets came raining down from the sky, sending Annie to the ground, then scrambling out of the way from the continuing barrage of bullets as Kid landed gracefully on the lamppost.

 

“It’s go time, then,” Death Scythe’s voice growled.

 

Soul turned to Maka. Death Scythe stood right next to her, and the blazing look in their eyes mirrored one another’s almost perfectly.

 

“You ready?” He asked. “Cause I am.”

 

Maka nodded firmly, hand stretching out for him, but Soul saw how her hard set expression flickered. Revealing something much more vulnerable underneath, something Soul couldn’t quite recognize.

 

“Maka?” Soul tried, trying applying some pressure. Probing carefully at whatever opening he could get.

 

“I’m not going in there without you,” Maka said, and while it carried the same steel, her voice was somehow softer, quieter, and just plain more _vulnerable_ than it had been back in the van.

 

“I know,” Soul replied, and he was still somewhat taken aback at the gravity in her tone, because he was dumb and he didn’t _realize_ just yet _(she just lost her father, she lost, she_ **_lost-_ ** _)_ so he just went ahead and took her hand. “I know. It’s okay.”

 

He saw her swallow. Saw her nod. “Then let’s go, Soul Eater.”

 

An explosion sounded, followed by the sound of Ragnarok's screech as Soul transformed, dissolving into his weapon form as he flew into Maka’s hand-

 

Then, there was the electricity. One, long shock of voltage scorching his entire body from the inside out, pain singing through his limbs and veins and soul.

 

**_(The waves crashed against the sand, sounding almost like a roar, the hot desert sun beating against his back as his friends shouted and chased the basketball-)_ **

 

He held on though, held on through the grasp of pale, white-hot little fingers, despite their touch being the exact same thing that was lighting him up from the inside-

 

_(hold on, hold on, dammit don’T LET GO-)_

 

**_(-the shimmering violet of a witch’s soul, Kami smiling at him for the first time, watching Wes’ fingers dance across the violin strings from his view backstage, bright green eyes that seemed to sparkle whenever she smiled-)_ **

 

 _“SOUL!”_ He heard Maka’s voice cry, but it was faint, like a stereo turned way down low. He recognized the pain in her voice though, and he almost instinctively let go because she was in pain, he was _hurting her-_

 

 _“Adjust your wavelength!”_ Another voice screamed from the back of his mind, sounding almost frantic, laced with agony. _“Goddammit, adjust your wavelength, we’re all going to_ **_burn up_ ** _-!”_

 

.

 

The piano was hot to the touch, and he could smell his flesh burning as he slammed his fingers against the first note, a note that sounded more like a screech than a key.

 

“It’s not working,” He heard the demon’s voice croon, which he barely heard because there was so much _pain,_ and it was so hard to focus on anything else. “You’re all out of tune, remember?”

 

 _“SOUL?!_ ” Her voice sounded so far away, so far away from him. _“SOUL, WHERE ARE YOU?!”_

 

 _“I can’t reach her!”_ The unfamiliar voice cried, and it was wracked in pain too. _“She’s- I’m_ **_trying_ ** _but I can’t- oh_ **_god-”_ **

 

He gritted his teeth, because everything hurt, he wanted to scream, but he braced his hands, forced them upward, and slammed them into the keys, and the chord sounded so off-key it made his brain scream-

 

**.**

 

Maka’s flesh was burning. He could smell it, even in his weapon form, he was burning right through her gloves, through the bandages on her hands, through the burns she already had.

 

 _“Maka-”_ He managed. _“Maka, you need to let go, it's hurting you-”_

 

“No,” She snarled, and she charged forward just as another explosion sounded.

 

Soul could see Kid crash into the ground hard, sending bits of cement and dirt flying from the impact. Smoke curled and wisps of twinkling white light curled up from his body as he laid there, unmoving. He saw Crona fly forward with Ragnarok in full swing, only to be blasted backwards in a giant explosion of powerful, scorching white light. He saw Black Star charge forward next, causing Annie to whip back around and fling another blazing bolt of light at him, which he just barely dodged, and then-

 

_“ANNIEEE!!!”_

 

Maka’s cry rang through the air, pitched up in a shriek that contained what felt like every scrap of anger she had in her body, and she swung him forward, sparks dancing across his form and all.

 

**.**

 

He was gritting his teeth has he slammed his fingers into the keys over and over, playing like he had when he was a toddler, violent tremors wracking his body as he tore a mangled, screaming song from the piano-

 

**.**

 

His blade just barely missed Annie's head by a hair’s width, only because she managed to swing her body almost completely backwards, caught in a deadly limbo.

 

But she was back up in a flash, hands glowing and already chucking another bolt of starlight right at Maka’s head, then another, then literally blinking out of sight to prevent Black Star from slicing her half.

 

**.**

 

“Soul, you need to stop, you’re sparking-!”

 

Hands grabbed his shoulders, trying to pull him away from the piano. He snarled, fought back, desperately tried to hit the keys, desperately trying to stay within her _grasp,_ her _touch,_ even though it felt as though he was cooking from the inside-

 

“Stop! Soul, STOP-!”

 

**.**

“Wha-?” Black Star yelped.

 

She blinked right back into existence right out of the reach of his swing, before slamming a ball of starlight right into the side of Black Star’s head.

 

Black Star collided forward, eyes bugging out and letting out a cry of pain unlike anything Soul had heard from him before, and before Soul even knew what was happening he collided right into Maka, sending her backwards.

 

Her grip _slipped,_ sending sparks through the air-

 

**.**

 

“Soul, **STOP! NOW!!!”**

 

His fingers tried to slam into the keys again, only for them to slip, giving the hands the opportunity they needed to pull him _away,_ back from the piano, away from bright green eyes and scorching fingers _-_

 

**.**

 

_Fuck._

 

“SOUL!” He heard Maka’s voice cry.

 

He slammed to the ground in his human form, spewing a geyser of blood as he tumbled, hit a nearby wall.

 

"NO-" came Maka's cry, before another bright flash of white light.

 

His ears were ringing with the sound of strained piano notes. His body was twitching violently, his bones felt like the had melted, the pavement under him felt ice-cold under his fire-hot skin. Later, he would realise that his clothes were completely charred.

 

He heard a violent screech _(his meister’s screech)_ , heard the sounds of a scuffle. Grunting

 

“Stop it! Stop it!” Another girl’s voice. Annie’s voice. Angry, panicked, tense. _“J_ _esus arsholing christ_ , stop it-!”

 

“BITE ME!” Came Maka's voice again.

 

Then, the distinct sound of a fist colliding with a face, a crack, a shriek.

 

_“-FUCK-!”_

 

Another crack. More scuffling.

 

Soul rolled over on his side, vision still too blurry to make out the details, but he saw the tail end of Maka’s coat, the ends of pigtails and a ponytail, whipping around in a circle with fists flying.

 

_BANG!_

 

A bullet hit Annie square in the back causing her to keel forward, allowing another one of Maka’s punches to land right upside the jaw, sending her flying.

 

He could make out Liz standing towards the sidelines, despite Kid still looking down for the count, hands clenched around Patty and firing shot after shot in a rapid fire succession.

 

Annie stumbled, hands glowing white and coming up to clumsily block the shots for a second before fading right back out of existence.

 

Then right back in again, then out, then back in, running straight towards Liz in a rapid zig-zag, just barely being missed by Patty’s bullets. Liz whipped around just as Annie appeared right behind her, and, in what looked like the same attack she had used against Black Star, slammed a ball of light right between Liz’s shoulder blades, sending her flying forward with a cry of pain and a loud _BOOM!_

 

She hit the ground right next to Kid, letting out a groan but otherwise remaining still.

 

“Sis!” Came Patty’s shout as she transformed out of her human form, hair disheveled and smoking at the tips, kneeling down next to Liz.

 

Maka lunged forward to strike Annie again as she phased back, forcing Annie to block her attack, parry.

 

“Okay, last chance to stop!” Annie spat, specks of blood flecking on her lips, just as she pushed backwards, hands glowing and white, and the gravity around her sort of exploded forwards, causing Maka to yelp and stumble back.

 

Patty stood up from her sister’s side, expression dark and wild and enraged, and _charged_. Annie spun back around at the motion before flinging a bolt of starlight, then another.

 

Patty managed to dodge the first, jumped around the second, before Annie’s jaw clenched and sent the final, third ball of starlight straight at Patty’s chest.

 

Another mini-explosion, and Patty tumbled to the ground hard.

 

Maka charged once again then, then, eyes narrowed, teeth bared, fists swinging back with a furious and mighty _snarl-_

 

 _“Zero Gravity Dance,”_ Soul saw Annie mouth, hands glowing, and then flinging outwards to release what felt like a wave of magic.

 

Soul could feel the magic rolling through what was probably the entire block like a wave, saw a little flash of light cling to Maka’s body.

 

And suddenly, Maka’s final step somehow propelled her upward off of the ground, sending her slowly floating upwards. Soul heard Maka gasp, as her limbs flailed, clearly trying to steady herself but only causing her to spin slowly through the air, like she had suddenly been trapped in a jar of molasses. Annie easily dodged them as she stepped around their forms to a safe distance.

 

“Wha-?” Maka managed, arms flapping frantically , eyes wide. In any other circumstances, it would have been almost comedic.

 

“Listen to me!” Annie snarled, voice high and frantic, effectively cutting Maka off and bringing a hand up to wipe at the blood seeping through her, most likely, broken nose. “I didn’t kill your father!”

 

“Yeah right,” Maka sneered, legs kicking and toes scuffing the ground enough to propel her just a _bit_ closer to Annie, but not much. And Annie took another step back anyway, several feet away from Soul’s face.

 

“I didn’t,” Annie repeated, and to Soul’s surprise, she sounded almost frantic. _“Please,_ I swear on my mother’s grave I didn’t-”

 

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Maka growled glare sharp enough to cut through steel. “Besides, I heard you didn’t even like your mother.”

 

Annie visibly tensed. “You- wait, from _who?!”_

 

Heart pounding, Soul tried to push himself up with his forearms, only for them to completely give out and for his chin to smack back against the concrete.

 

 _Death Scythe, where are you, do something,_ **_somebody_ ** _needs to do something-_

 

But everyone else was down, clearly knocked out by the bombs of starlight. Death Scythe was nowhere to be seen, and there was a definite radio silence in the back of his mind.

 

There was only him, lying stiff and in pain on the cold, dirty ground, right in a rapidly forming puddle, and his meister, dangling in midair and fighting against gravity.

 

But as he rolled over again, teeth gritted, something small and round and hard bit into his chest from under his t-shirt.

 

It took him a second to realize what it was, and as soon as he did, something connected in his brain and a lightbulb went off.

 

_Blair’s gift._

 

The pumpkin-shaped charm was hanging around his neck, had been since they had left. 

 

“From who?!” Annie demanded again.

 

“Doesn’t matter,” Maka spat out in a low growl, arms and legs full-on pinwheeling at that point in an attempt to keep herself upright and glaring at Annie. Again, in other other circumstances, it almost would have been comical. “C’mon. Let me down. _I dare you.”_

 

With a grunt of pain, Soul rolled onto his back, shaking hands scrabbling underneath his shirt to pull the vial off the cord. It was warm in his hand, it’s contents just as warm and swirling as they were when Blair had given it to him.

 

“Look," Annie growled. "If I really wanted to, I could kill you right now.”

 

 _“Then do it,”_ Maka growled. Her eyes were level with Annie’s, hardset and cold.

 

“I’m not going to,” Annie hissed, staring her right back down. “Because I’m not a killer. I’m _not_ my mother.”

 

“We have plenty of evidence that says otherwise,” Maka bit out. “That also says you’re a liar.”

 

His hands were shaking so badly. His arms felt like wet noodles, limp and pathetic. It felt like he didn’t even have the strength to inch himself closer to get a better aim.

 

_(“Pull off the stopper, and throw it like a grenade-”)_

 

He heard Annie let out a hiss of frustration, patience audibly waning. “Look, if you could just _listen-”_

 

Soul clenched his jaw, falling over onto his side. He felt like a goddamn fish, flopping around pathetically on dry land, but he pushed that feeling aside, prepared to muster every last bit of strength he had left-  


“I’m not listening to anything you have to say,” Maka snarled.

 

“For the love of- listen you _bull-headed bitch,_ **_I didn’t kill him-”_ **

 

Three.

 

Two.

 

One.

 

_Blair, please, I’m begging you, please come through-_

 

He pulled the stopper out with his teeth, and chucked the vial as hard as he could in Annie’s direction.

 

And he was hoping for it to land right near her, at her feet or something, because he had no idea how strong the thing was and he didn’t want to kill her.

 

Not yet, anyway.

 

But instead, he must have had a been more power left in him than he thought, because the vial smacked right into the back of her head, shattering into a million little pieces.

 

Almost immediately, a bright orange cloud ballooned outward, enveloping everything in Soul’s line of view and sending a gust that nearly made him flop over on his back again and causing him to flinch away, shielding his eyes.

 

It took a good long minute for the smoke to clear enough for him to see.

 

Right when he was starting to panic and think that maybe he made the wrong decision, he saw Maka back on the ground, picking herself up and dusting herself off. She was swaying uneasily, but she looked otherwise unharmed.

 

Annie was lying on the ground not far away, prone and unmoving. For a second, Soul felt a flare of panic, realizing it didn’t look like she was breathing, before he noticed her chest heaving, ever-so-slightly and barely noticeable.

 

 _Blair, I’m going to be buying you fresh salmon for the rest of your life,_ was Soul’s last thought before he slumped down onto the ground, exhaustion and pain finally catching up to him.

 


	10. quiet thoughts and lonely bones

_It’s funny how something so small can change your entire world._

 

_Maka fit into the crook of his arm when she was born, and she was so tiny, especially since she had been born three weeks early._

 

_“She might have health problems later in life,” he remembers a worried doctor tell him and his wife, and those words made his heart stop._

 

_(She didn’t. Maka grew up to be a strong, healthy, energetic little girl who was sweet and strong and made of sunshine)_

 

_She was so tiny, but her very presence made him feel like the planets themselves had shifted, like everything had turned itself inside out and flipped around. It was the most terrifying thing he’d ever experienced in his life._

 

_Everything about her was perfect, plain and simple. And no, he wouldn’t let anyone say otherwise, because they would be wrong. The best years of his life were when she loved him back, when she would run to hug him when he came home from work, when she giggled and gave him kisses on the cheek, when he’d hear her talking to her friends about her powerful and important papa, who worked alongside a god and was the coolest guy she ever knew._

 

_He remembered when she was in preschool, reading her report about what she wanted to do when she grew up, reading that she had written that she wanted to be a skilled and talented meister, just like her mama, and make a death scythe as powerful and awesome as her papa._

 

_(And he felt so important, he felt so strong, he was on the top of the world, he had a job he loved. A beautiful house and a beautiful wife, and above all the love of the most precious little girl in the entire world)_

 

_She never liked it when he danced with other women at parties. She liked it even less as she got older, when she made efforts to ignore him when he got home from work, when she turned away from him when he tried to give her hugs or kisses on the cheek._

 

_He’ll never forget seeing her standing in front of a judge during the divorce proceedings, and saying that she, under no circumstances, wanted to live with her father._

 

_It hurts. It hurts even more because he knows he deserves it. That men don’t have to cheat. It’s such a bitter pill to swallow, but in a way it’s always been there, fizzing at the bottom of his stomach._

 

_(And he wants to tell her, tell her how scared he was when she was born, how scared he was when he learned that he was going to be a father, tell her about sitting alone in the kitchen at eighteen years old with his own house and a baby in his arms and having a moment of panic because it felt so damn **overwhelming** , he wants to tell her that he does loves Mama, will always love Mama, but when it comes down to it, he hadn't wanted to marry her. Not like they had) _

 

_(But he can’t, because it’s not an excuse, no matter how much he wants it to be)_

 

_(Because he should be perfect for her. Because that’s what she deserves, because she’s his daughter. Because even though she hated him, she still visited him in the infirmary after the battle with the kishin had ended, she still made him a card for Father’s Day. She refused to acknowledge his presence in the halls, but she looked so genuinely concerned when he had thrown up at the basketball courts)_

 

_(Because a part of him feels ashamed, looking at her. Knowing that he’s not a good man, will never be a good man, even for her)_

 

_And now that he’s dead, buried in the ground, it’s all he can think about. Because that’s what he’s leaving behind, that’s what his daughter is going to remember him as. A no-good man who could never be good, even for her._

 

_“Oh, you poor, miserable sap,” Soul’s demon drawls, grinning that creepy-ass grin. “How about some blues to soothe your soul?”_

_He grits his teeth and turns away, feet sloshing through the water as he stalks away, the demon’s cackle ringing behind him._

 

* * *

 

The pair of white lights hovering right over his head were bright enough to feel like miniature suns, close enough to his face that he could feel the electric heat radiating from their bulbs and blinding enough to obscure most of his vision, save for the silhouettes of the three figures hovering over him.

 

“Hm…” The tallest one rumbled, a large, oversized finger prodding at his chest. “Ah yes. I see it now.”

 

“Really?” Asked the middle one.

 

“I still don’t see anything.” The smallest figure sounded frustrated.

 

“It’s there.” Lord Death’s voice sounded soft. “Yes, he’s definitely in there. It’s very faint though, likely all-but-invisible to mortal eyes. No wonder we didn’t sense him before.”

 

“Can I sit up?” Soul asked. He was feeling increasingly uncomfortable, just lying there under the claustrophobic lights and far too many gazes for his liking.

 

“Go ahead, Soul,” He heard Lord Death’s voice say, and then the twin lights were pulled away.

 

Soul sat up to sit on the small, somewhat lumpy cot that had been brought into the Death Room, body still aching and blinking dizzily at the large light spots flickering across his vision. He felt Maka’s hands brace at his shoulders, and he almost automatically lifted his own up to cover them.

 

“So what do we do now?” Stein’s voice asked, sounding much more gruffer than usual.

 

“Well, for now there’s not much we can do.” Soul’s vision cleared enough for him to see Lord Death pull off a stethoscope and hand it to Nygus, who was standing right next to him. “Spirit’s soul is pretty entwined with Soul’s here. I haven’t seen something like this happen in decades, but I do remember that when souls are that entwined, it usually means one can’t survive without sort of leeching off the other. They should be easy to separate, actually, but if we do that now there’s a good chance we’ll end up killing Spirit.”

 

“...Killing Spirit?” Marie asked, hesitantly, from where she stood behind Stein. “Isn’t...isn’t he already dead?”

 

“His body is, but his soul isn’t,” Death explained. “Our goal right now would be to try to find the missing pieces of his soul. Hopefully if we do, the pieces should reunite on their own if they’re in close enough proximity to one another, and Spirit’s soul should be released the way it should have when he died.”

 

“But what do we do?” Maka pressed, and Soul felt her hands slide down from his shoulders.

 

Soul glanced up at her, to see how she was staring up at Lord Death with wide, almost pleading eyes.

 

“Well, until we find the other pieces of Spirit’s soul, we can’t remove the piece that’s attached to Soul’s soul. Like I said, if we do, he’ll shrivel up and die,” Lord Death replied, sounding almost gentle.

 

Maka made a frustrated noise. “Yeah, I got that, but what do Soul and I do? Soul’s wavelength is all messed up right now, and we can’t resonate. I can’t even hold him without- well-” Maka held up her hands, completely covered in thick layers of bandages, and Soul couldn’t help but wince.

 

Lord Death looked uncomfortable. “Well...for now, you two need to keep out of combat. We could get you guys into some remedial classes to try to get your resonance rate more stable, but there’s a slim chance of that, to be honest.”

 

“What do you mean?” Soul asked, feeling a flare of panic rise up in chest.

 

“Well, I’m sorry to say, that you’re pretty much unwieldable at the moment, Soul.” Death scratched the back of his head. “Your wavelength is very volatile right now. You and Death Scythe are welded together no problem, but the result is that when you try to send out your wavelength, it ends up extremely jagged because it’s being filtered through Death Scythe’s. Think of it as trying to put a square block of clay into a circular slot. The clay pretty much is forced to mold into that shape, and it doesn’t come out looking that nice.”

 

 _“Unwieldable?”_ Soul repeated, voice sounding strangled even in his own ears, and until that moment, he had never known how much a single word could feel so heavy.

 

“It should only be temporary, though,” Death said, quickly. “Once Spirit’s soul un-merges with yours, you should be right as rain again. But until then, you two need to take it easy.” He gestured towards Maka’s heavily bandaged hands, which she immediately shoved into the pockets of her hoodie. “Although maybe Death Scythe could somehow lend his assistance...somehow. He has _...had..._ a knack for wavelength control, after all, so you never know. Have you uh…” He cleared his throat. “Is he here right now, Soul?”

 

“No,” Soul replied, just as he felt pretty much everyone else’s eyes- Maka’s, Stein’s, Marie’s, and Nygus’ too- all immediately focus on him. “No, I don’t know where he is right now.”

 

In fact, he hadn’t seen Death Scythe at all since they had gotten back to Death City, since they had managed to knock out Annie, even. Which was _incredibly_ stressful, to put it lightly.

 

Death cleared his throat, semi-awkwardly. “Well, either way the point still stands. You two did some substantial damage to yourselves. I don’t even need to look very far to see the burn marks on your souls. Soul, you shouldn’t even try to transform for at least another few days, and Maka, you certainly shouldn’t try to wield him for at least another week until you two have healed.”

 

“But-!” Maka started, voice pitched up and frantic.

 

“No buts,” Death said, sternly. “I definitely don’t want to hear any buts. If you keep pushing it, your souls could end up so damaged that you two will never resonate again. It’ll just be for a little while, okay?”

 

Soul felt like he had just been clobbered with a sack of bricks.

 

_Never resonate again...never resonate again…_

 

“Well, clearly you’re all having a party in here.”

 

They all turned to see Sid, coming up to them from the guillotine arches, hands in his pockets and clearly trying to look composed, but looking somewhat disheveled instead.

 

“How's it going?” Death asked.

 

Sid scowled. “Not great. Though Azusa just went in, maybe she’ll have some luck in breaking her.” Sid came to a stop next to Marie, crossing his arms. It took Soul a second to figure out what they were saying, but he figured they had to be talking about Annie. Who, from what he and Maka had been told, had been in an interrogation room for the past twelve hours, making everyone’s lives difficult. “Anyways, so Spirit really is attached to Soul, from what I’ve heard. I’ve been meaning to ask- do we have any theories for how that happened? How his soul even fractured in the first place?”

 

“It can happen naturally at times, can’t it?” Marie asked.

 

“That, or it was collateral damage from the cause of death.” Death scratched against the underside of his mask thoughtfully, as if he was mimicking someone scratching his chin. “Which we’re still not sure about, since we don’t even know exactly what happened. And Annie still isn’t talking?”

 

“Not to us,” Sid grumbled, visibly glowering at the mere mention of Annie. Soul suddenly realized that Sid’s jersey and the ends of his dreadlocks looked slightly scorched, as if someone had taken a flamethrower to try to fry him. “But she did finally throw us a bone.” He inclined his head over to where Soul was seated, where Maka was standing right next to him. “She said that she'd be willing to talk to those two.”

 

Soul could have sworn Lord Death looked taken aback, despite the fact that his mask was a largely-unmoving piece of wood. “And why is that?”

 

“Because she doesn’t like anyone else, apparently,” Sid muttered.

 

“Does that mean she likes us?” Maka asked, sounding incredulous at the mere notion.

 

“More than the rest of us, I'm pretty sure.” Sid looked a little miffed. “She told me I’m annoying. Am I annoying?”

 

“Of course not." Death gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. 

 

“Well,” Stein muttered, and Soul thought he saw Marie elbow him from the corner of his eye.

 

“Well, she called me a bimbo,” Marie grumbled, looking annoyed even at the memory. “And she told Joe that he smelled. I don’t think it’s just you.”

 

“She called me a bitch,” Maka pointed out, dryly. “Do you seriously think we’ll have any luck talking to her?”

 

“You might as well,” Sid replied. “Besides. The sooner we get a confession out of her, the sooner we can convict her.”

 

“And you say that a piece of Spirit’s soul is attached to Annie’s as well, right?” Death asked, turning towards Soul.

 

“Yeah,” Soul responded.

 

“And you’re sure of this?” Nygus asked.

 

“Positive. It’s how we found her in the first place.”

 

Nygus exchanged glances with Stein, as Lord Death clapped his hands together, the sound ringing through their silence.

 

“Alrighty! Then here’s what we'll do- when Azusa’s done with Annie, we’ll send Maka and Soul over to talk to her. And then we’ll bring her in here, and I can try to get that piece of Spirit’s soul out of her. Hopefully, that'll be the rest of it, so that his soul can then finally be released.” Death turned over towards Soul and Maka’s direction. “That is, if you two are alright with talking to her.”

 

“Yeah,” Maka said almost immediately. “Yeah, I’m fine with it. Soul?”

 

“‘Yeah, sure,” Soul responded.

 

“Alrighty then. Then you two are free to go. Sid will take you down to meet her. And remember what I said.” Death’s gaze suddenly went stern. “Take it easy. Don’t try to transform, wield, or resonate. Understand?”

 

What else could they say?

 

“Yeah,” was Soul’s response, the only thing he could really manage to say.

 

_Unwieldable._

 

Maka, however, was silent, but that alone spoke more than he could ever manage.

 

* * *

 

The dungeons hadn’t changed much since they’d last been there, to try to visit Crona.

 

But instead of going into one of the cells, they were led to a far-off room that had clear, wide windows that revealed a hunched figure sitting at a table inside, and a heavy metal door that opened just as they arrived, revealing a disgruntled-looking Azusa.

 

“You finally brought them?” She asked stiffly, the minute her gaze locked onto them.

 

“Yep,” Sid replied.

 

“Good.” Her eyes lingered on Maka for a second, before turning her head away, the glint in her glasses obscuring her gaze. “Good luck you two. You’ll need it.”

 

“Did she give you a hard time too?” Sid asked.

 

The corners of Azusa’s lips turned down. “I don’t even want to talk about it.”

 

“Fair enough.” Sid stepped forwards to hold the door open. “If she tries anything funny, give us a yell. We’ll be right outside watching.”

 

“Thanks,” Maka responded, voice uncharacteristically stiff as she marched in, leaving Soul to trail in at her heels.

 

The room was colored a dirt gray, with a stainless steel table and chairs placed in it’s center. Annie sat in one of them, hunched over, wearing the same kind of binds Soul recognized them having used on Medusa, hair hanging down over her eyes to conceal her expression.

 

The door clicked shut behind him just as she spoke.

 

“What do you want now?” Her voice was low, and sounded strangely nasally, but it carried a sort of stiffness to it that was hard to avoid.

 

“To talk.” Maka’s voice was just as flat, but carried much more steel.

 

She jumped at the sound of Maka’s voice, head raising. Her eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with purplish bruises. Her nose was taped over with a thick layer of bandages, tipping Soul off to the reason her voice sounded so strange.

 

“Oh,”  Was all she said in response. “It’s you two. About fucking time.”

 

“Surprise.” Maka said dryly, sliding into the only open chair straight across from Annie.

 

Soul hovered next to her, arms crossed. His pocket felt heavy- it was stuffed with a few wrapped pastries, specifically strawberry pastries, that he had grabbed from the DWMA staff room on the way over to the dungeons. The first time he had met Annie, she was pissed at not getting one from Deathbucks. While he figured it probably didn’t take much more than that to piss her off, that had to mean she liked strawberry pastries, right? Maybe enough that he could use them as bribery or something. It was a stupid idea, probably, but hey, you never knew.

 

“So we’re here.” Maka leaned onto the table, arms crossed and glare frosty. “Let me guess. You’re going to try to convince me you didn’t kill my papa.” Her voice was so, so flat, devoid of pretty much anything. “Even though Soul saw you in his house, right after he’d been killed. Even though your DNA was all over the crime scene. Even though there’s a ton of evidence that’ll convict you on the spot once your trial rolls around.”

 

Annie grimaced. “Yeah. Pretty much.” Her gaze flickered up to meet Maka’s. “Because I didn’t kill him. No matter what you people want to think.”

 

“That’s what you said.” Maka’s voice trembled a little. “That’s what you told all of us when we caught you. That’s what you told everyone who’s talked to you.”

 

“So you’re telling me there’s not a shred of skepticism in your dumb little pigtailed head?” Annie bit out in a bitter, reproachful sneer. “That maybe, _just fucking maybe,_ it wasn’t what it looked like? That your dad’s real killer is actually still out there? Are you really going to take that chance?”

 

“Then give me one reason why I should _ever_ listen to anything you have to say,” Maka hissed. “The only reason I’m here is because I’m hoping you’ll give me a confession so we can convict you faster.”

 

“I’m not confessing for something I never did!” Annie snarled, voice suddenly pitching up high enough to make both Soul and Maka jump. “I don’t care if it’ll get me executed on the spot! I’m a lot of things, but I’m _not_ a fucking liar!”

 

“I saw you!” Soul cut in, causing her blazing cold eyes to turn towards him sharply. “You were there, and the minute you saw me you ran-”

 

“I panicked!” Annie snapped, cutting him off. “Of course I fucking ran! I find a fucking _dead guy_ right when a DWMA student to shows up, there’s no way in _hell_ I was going to just stay there and get arrested for it-

 

“Then why were you there in the first place?” Soul snapped back.

 

Immediately, her mouth snapped shut, glaring at them with a gaze like dry ice.

 

“You better ‘fess up,” Soul drawled, stuffing his hands in her pockets to give the girl in front of him the sharpest glare he could muster. It was actually pretty easy to manage- all he had to do was remember the way Maka cried after Death Scythe had died, her closed door, the way _Death Scythe_ had cried, Stein’s ragged expression, Marie’s red eyes, Black Star’s sullen attitude, Lord Death’s dimmed cheerfulness, the list went on and on and on, and it all traced back to the girl in front of him. “Because I doubt anyone’s going to show you any benefit of the doubt otherwise.”

 

“Yeah I got that,” Annie bit out, sounding every bit like her usual pleasant self, but Soul just barely caught the small, slight waver in her voice. “Just- just shut up and listen, okay?”

 

“Fine,” Maka growled, leaning back in her chair, arms crossed and glaring up at Annie expectantly. “We’re listening. Convince us you’re innocent, then.”

 

There was a pause, what felt like a good, long second before she spoke.

 

“My mother died when I was two years old,” Annie said. Her shoulders drooped again, gaze locking down to the surface of the table. “I don’t remember much of her, to be honest. But my father kept her memory alive.”

 

“What are you doing?” Maka asked impatiently. “I don’t want to hear your life story. I want to hear what you were doing at my papa’s apartment.”

 

“Then you’ll shut the hell up and listen,” Annie growled, eyes flashing in annoyance. 

 

“Fine.” Maka crossed her arms and went silent.

 

Annie took a second to glower back at her for a second before continuing. “He somehow convinced the DWMA to leave us alone, played the part of a grieving, wrecked husband who had no idea what his wife was doing when she wasn’t home. But we’d mourn for her every year on the anniversary of her death, and my father would always call the DWMA monsters for killing her and taking her soul.” Her lips quirked upwardly at that in a wry, bitter smile, for reasons Soul wouldn’t understand until later. Much, much later.

 

“I never really saw much of my dad. He always seemed like he was busy with something, so I’d stay with my aunt a lot. Asides from his masks, I’d always see him working with what looked like shimmering balls of light that he kept in bird cages. Most of them were blue, but several of them were red. Quite a few of them were purple too, kind of a mixture between the two. I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone about them, but my father would let me watch him work. They glowed, but they were also sort of jellyish, I guess, so he’d sort of- he’d sort of chop them up. Probe at them a lot, I never really understood what he was doing.” She paused, and for another second she was silent before continuing. “I didn’t realize what they were until I got older.”

 

“They were souls,” Maka said, slowly, just as the realization hit Soul too, eyes going wide. “Weren’t they?”

 

“From my mother’s victims,” Annie confirmed. “And maybe some of his too. I don’t know.”

 

“Some of his?” Soul asked, stomach sinking as he realized what she was implying.

 

“They were partners-in-crime, my parents. Like Bonnie and Clyde, but more fucked up. Mom did most of the dirty work, but I learned when I was older that Dad had some blood on his hands too. I don’t know how many people he killed, but it was a good amount.”

 

Soul immediately met’s Maka’s eyes, which had gone wide.

 

 _Her father’s studio,_ her eyes all but screamed, and his stomach twisted at the reminder.

 

“Why?” Maka asked, voice strained, turning her attention back to the girl in front of her. “That’s one thing we never found out. We knew your mother was killing people, but we never knew why or what she was using the souls she took for. She claimed she was feeding them to a kishin, but Mama and Papa always said they always thought she was trying to keep her real motivation a secret.”

 

“Because she was,” Annie replied. “Probably to protect the system she and my father had going on. Both my parents had an obsession with souls. They studied their makeup, how to break them apart and mold them back together, how to extract their- their _essence_ , I guess is the word for it. They actually figured out how to contain them to keep them from releasing on their own- they basically ground a bunch of other souls up, and made cages out of them. The conflicting wavelengths would- they’d create a sort of web, I guess, to freeze the captured soul into place and keep it stationary, for as long as years on end.”

 

“Grind them up?” Soul choked out, again exchanging a horrified glance with Maka. “How- how is that even possible?”

 

“It’s easier than you’d think,” Annie replied, dryly. “I don’t remember the technicalities of it, but basically, my father figured out how to channel his own wavelength into a kitchen blender. You just throw it in, and bam. Soul smoothie.”

 

Soul really, really had to fight to control his composure then, because that provided his brain with all sorts of unpleasant imagery he didn’t want to think about. Even worse was that she sounded so damn nonchalant about it, which was far creepier than anything else.

 

“Alright.” Maka’s voice was strained, and she looked just as shaken at that as he was, but she managed to hold herself together pretty well considering. “That- okay. So is that what happened to all the missing souls? They were all ground up?”

 

“I don’t even know,” Annie replied. “A lot of them were, yeah. But I wouldn’t be surprised if some of them were stored somewhere in a vault or something. I don’t know where they all are. You’d have to ask my father.”

 

“Unfortunately, he’s dead,” Maka responded, shortly.

 

Annie’s eyes narrowed. “No, he’s fucking not.”

 

 _Right,_ Soul remembered. She thought her father was still alive. Vana had told them as much.

 

“He jumped off a bridge and they found his foot, right?” He said. "Sounds dead to me."

 

“More like he left a note and hacked off his own foot to fake his death,” Annie snapped, and cut them off just as both of their mouths opened. “Yeah, I know I sound batshit, but it’s true. At least that’s what _had_ to have happened, because I don’t know what else to think.”

 

“Well, you’re right that it sounds batshit,” Maka replied, shortly.

 

Annie’s mouth twisted in an angry sneer, but she took a deep, apparently calming breath, before continuing. “The night he supposedly died, he told me everything I just told you. I already knew about the souls, but I thought that he was only carrying out the experiments in my mother’s memory. I didn’t know he was involved in it all, that he had killed people too. It- it wasn’t really a _surprise_ , per se, but-  still. I didn't know. He told me-” Her voice wavered. “He told me he wanted me to continue the family business. He wanted me to- to follow in my mother’s footsteps. He had a list, he had a goddamn _list_ of all the people he wanted to kill, and he wanted me to help him.” Her mouth flattened, and her gaze was focused down, away from Maka. “Your mother was actually on the top of the list. He wanted your father to feel the pain of losing a wife, just like he had.”

 

Maka’s breath hitched, a sharp, almost fragile sound. Soul rested a hand on her shoulder to brace her.

 

“I left home that day. I grabbed my stuff, and I went straight to my aunt’s. She didn’t know anything, by the way. I never told her any of this, not even about the souls. After the authorities found the foot, I didn’t think I needed to anyway. Let all that shit die with my father. I didn’t want anything to do with it.”

 

“Why?” Maka snarled, leaning forward. “Why didn’t you tell anyone about the souls your father had? The souls that belonged innocent people? Some of them were probably _children_ , you know. Your mother was known for slaughtering _entire families.”_

 

“I know,” Annie choked out. She was trembling, Soul realized, a tremble so fine he barely noticed it, because she was very clearly trying to keep herself together. _“I know._ I remember some of them were- smaller than others. Those were the ones that always got ground up. Dad always said they were too weak to be used for anything else.”

 

 _Jesus_. He saw Maka swallow as Annie continued.

 

“I didn't know what else to do, okay?” Annie said, voice coming out like it was supposed to sound sharp, but it trembled a bit too much to achieve the effect. “And he- he's a fucking _maniac_. I didn’t always know he was killing people, but I always, fucking _always_ knew _that_ . I didn’t- I was _living_ with him, what the hell was I supposed to do? When I ran away, it felt like I was running for my life, and I couldn’t even tell my aunt, because he always said to never to tell anyone, specifically _anyone-”_ Her breath hitched. "I didn't want him to kill me. He'd always tell me tha- that if I wasn't good-" Annie's entire frame shuddered. "-he said he'd put my soul in the blender too."

 

 _"What?"_ Maka's voice sounded strained, disbelieving. Which mirrored Soul's own reaction almost perfectly.

 

 _Holy fucking shit, it sounds like he'd get along great with Medusa_ , Soul thought.

 

 

 

“You were scared, weren’t you?” He asked, because it was becoming increasingly clear. The tremble in her frame, the way her hard expression wavered. Even though she was obviously good at posturing, it was becoming crystal clear that she was nothing but scared shitless. And despite everything, he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of pity, one that accompanied the doubt that was starting to trickle in. Because it all sounded so damn _raw_ , even though he knew that she would probably try to sound like anything since she was up for execution-

 

Annie didn’t even acknowledge the accusation, but the way she jerked her head downward like she was trying hide her expression indicated volumes.

 

“About a month ago, I started getting letters in my father’s handwriting,” She continued, voice shaky. “Over and over, begging me to help him because he was in trouble. He kept saying- saying he was sorry for all the crap that had happened in the past, that he loved me, that he needed my help. I always tore them up at first, because I thought somebody was fucking with me. Playing some kind of sick joke. But one day, I got a polaroid, alongside a Death City postcard in his handwriting. The polaroid was of someone’s feet, obviously taken from the waist-down. Whoever it was was barefoot. One foot was normal, but the other was amputated at the ankle. On the postcard was another message from my father, again begging me to help him, again begging him to meet him in Death City. My father had my mother’s symbol tattooed on his ankle when after she died, and I could see it on the good leg of whoever was in that picture.”

 

“Do you still have these things?” Maka asked quietly.

 

“No. I tore them up like everything else, because I was still half-convinced someone was fucking with me.” Annie sounded bitter. “But, you know what they say. Curiosity killed the goddamn cat. I figured that one way or another, I’d find out who was doing this. Either my father was alive and was actually in trouble, or I’d find out who was messing with me and I’d kick their ass. So I went to Death City. I wasn’t sure what to expect, so I sort of just hung around for a few days. I tried to figure out where the postcard came from, who might have sent it, but that was a dead end. But then I got another note- one that gave me an address, and very specific instructions. The building I was supposed to go to had very high security, and the cameras viewing the balcony window would be shut off at a very specific timeframe. I had to get in up through the balcony fast, and once I did, my father would be there, and we would talk.”

 

“So you’re telling me you just went with this?” Maka sounded incredulous, and Soul really couldn’t blame her, because who the hell followed the instructions from a suspicious note from a possible stalker?

 

“I know it was stupid!” Annie retorted bitterly. “Trust me, I _know_ , but I wasn’t sure what else to do! If my father really was going to be there, I had to know! I should have asked around, should have figured out which building it was, because if I had _known_ it was the building your dad lived in, I definitely would had put two and two together and realized something was up. But all I could really focus on was the fact that my father might be there, that my father be _alive_ , so I went. I figured if I ran into trouble, I’d just blow them to smithereens.”

 

“Where’s the note?” Soul asked.

 

“It...it said to destroy it.” Annie’s shoulders slumped. “It was very, very specific and adamant that I destroy it, saying that it didn’t want it to land in the wrong hands. So I did.”

 

“How convenient,” Maka said curtly.

 

“Yeah, I know, but I wasn’t exactly thinking too straight at the time,” Annie snapped.

 

Maka scowled. “And what happened when you got there?”

 

“There wasn’t even anyone there once I got inside,” Annie said roughly. “I smelled the blood as soon as I got inside. When I followed it, I found the body. And-” Her voice cracked again. “And I _knew._  That’s when I knew. That my father was alive. That he had just killed someone.”

 

“How?” Maka growled, leaning forward again, knuckles white as half-moons as her fists clenched. “You’re saying your father killed Papa? Is that what you’re telling us?”

 

“The hole in the back of his chest.” Annie swallowed, throat bobbing. “It was how my mother killed her victims. My father showed me pictures when I was kid, told me how it was done. She developed a sort of- I guess it could be described as a vacuum? It could fire like a gun, and it _looked_ like a gun, but it had a sort of magnet- fuck, I don’t even remember how the hell it works, but it would concentrate on the soul inside the host, fire a sort of tractor beam to hook into it, and rip it out. Literally, _rip_ it out. The one my mother used disappeared when she was killed, was probably confiscated along with her soul, though I doubt you guys knew what it was. But my father had one too, and I distinctly remember being unable to find it after he supposedly died.”

 

Soul’s mind flashed to an open, gaping wound, red on the floor, red on the cupboards, red everywhere, a soul torn in pieces-

 

“Could it- could it cause a soul to fracture?” He was asking before his brain even really fully processed everything he had just been told. “Could it- like misfire somehow? Tear a soul up by ripping it- ripping it out?”

 

“Probably,” Was the immediate answer. “It wouldn’t surprise me. It’s- it’s not exactly a clean process.”

 

Soul stood, stunned. Because even though he couldn’t really gauge whether or not she was being completely truthful, a lot of her story made _sense._  

 

It all clicked together perfectly to form at least a portion of a puzzle. Death Scythe’s fractured soul, the manner of death, the _ground up souls_ Maka had sensed at the studio. It fit together almost perfectly with what he knew, and that was the most disconcerting part.

 

“What did you do then?” he asked, finally, because Maka wasn’t saying anything and the quiet had been starting to stretch on.

 

“Freaked out,” Annie admitted. “Especially when I heard your knock. I was tearing around the whole place, trying to see if my father was still there or if he had left anything behind, but there was nothing. No trace of him. When I heard you come in, I hid, then tried to make a break for it back out the balcony. But of course, you saw me. So I ran like hell, made a beeline back to Vegas. I figured my father would have left as soon as he killed Death Scythe, but I had no clue where. I figured I’d start in our hometown. I hit up my aunt to get somewhere to stay, but I didn’t tell her anything.”

 

“Wait, you hit up your aunt?” Soul asked, surprised, remembering Vana showing them the motel room. Explaining that Annie had called her, that she had given her a place to stay to help her. That Annie hadn’t actually told her what was going on.”

 

“Yeah.” A wry, bitter smile played at her features. “She doesn't ever really bother to question what I ask of her, but she trusts me. I think.”

 

“Is your aunt one of your parents’ sister or something?” Soul asked, because, once again, he was starting to connect the dots. _(“She was my apprentice.”) (“I don’t know, the way she talks about Annie, it almost seems personal.”)_

 

“My mom’s sister. She didn’t know what Mom was doing until she died, though.” Annie’s eyes darkened. “Tore her up pretty badly when she found out. Trust me, she’s a good lady. Kept my head straight in the face of my father’s bullshit. Put a lot of effort in keeping me on a good path. Just- don’t go after her, all right? She doesn’t know anything.” She almost sounded pleading, or at least, as pleading as she could possibly sound. It was a pretty restrained kind of pleading, but it sounded sincere, nevertheless.

 

“Don’t worry, we won’t,” Soul replied, but he exchanged a glance with Maka, who, judging by her expression, had reached the same conclusion. _And come to think of it, no wonder Vana was the only one able to lead Kami and Death Scythe to Jana. They’re fucking_ ** _sisters_** _. Hell, their names even rhyme. Gotta wonder if Annie knows that she was the one who turned her mother in, though. Probably not._ “Trust me, your aunt’ll be fine.”

 

Annie visibly relaxed a little, and that was what caused a sudden influx of guilt to churn in Soul’s stomach.

 

“So you’re saying your father killed mine.”

 

Maka had been largely quiet, up until that point when she finally spoke. Her eyes were intent, narrowed, focused straight at the girl in front of her.

 

“You’re saying you’re innocent,” Maka went on. “That your father did it.”

 

“I’m not innocent,” Annie muttered. For once, there was less venom in her voice. “I could have been smarter. And you were right- I could have called the fucking police, even when I was a kid. I could have told my aunt everything, gotten help from her. I could have- could have killed the son of a bitch myself, even." Her eyes glazed over as she spoke, staring right past them and into something dark and sinister, the kind of darkness that Soul couldn't, and didn't even want to, comprehend. "Part of me always wanted to, to be honest. Even when I was a kid. Knew it was only a matter of time before someone else got hurt.”

 

“You’d kill him?” Maka’s voice was low. “You’d kill your own father?”

 

Annie’s gaze snapped up to meet hers. “Would you really be complaining if I had?”

 

“You didn’t kill him.” Maka didn’t break her stare. “You didn’t kill my father. That’s what you're saying.”

 

“Yes. No- I mean, yes. I didn’t kill your father.”

 

“Say it again.”

 

“I didn’t kill your father.”

 

Maka’s eyes blazed. “Again.”

 

Annie’s jaw clenched. She leaned forward, right up against Maka’s face. Icy blue met stormy green, two forces, close to colliding at any moment.

 

“I. Didn’t. Kill. Your. Father.”

 

For a second, none of them moved. They were both still, far too still, expressions stony and eyes burning, one pair like blistering cold dry ice, the other like a forest fire ready to tear into everything in its path.

 

“He’s out there,” Annie said, finally. Quietly. “My father’s still out there. I don’t know where he is. For all I know, he’s planning to kill you too. And probably your mother on top of that. He wanted to the last time I saw him. I don’t see how that wouldn’t have changed.”

 

Maka’s stone-cold expression flickered, but before Soul could really gauge it she stood abruptly, chair screeching on the floor.

 

“Thank you for your cooperation,” She said, stiffly. “Doctor Franken Stein and Agent Barrett will be bringing you to Lord Death in a minute.”

 

Annie’s expression flickered too, turning into bewilderment. “Lord Death- wait, what?”

 

“You’ll be fine,” Soul called over his shoulder before making to follow his meister as she turned heel, stalking out of the room. But as he moved, he felt the shift of the pastries in his pocket.

 

 _Oh yeah. I have these._ He pulled them out of his pocket, tossed them on the table in front of Annie, who blinked up at him in bewilderment.

 

“Got you some pastries,” Soul said. “Strawberry, right?”

 

She blinked, before recognition clicked and she scowled. “I’m allergic to strawberries.”

 

It was his turn to blink. “But- at Deathbucks-”

 

“My dad loves strawberries,” She replied, dryly. “He loves them a lot. I thought if he really was alive- well, giving him one probably wouldn't hurt. Maybe it'd sweeten him up, especially if he'd been planning to kill me.” Her eyes drifted down to the wrapped up pastries, clumped together and slightly crumpled. “If you want to bring me something, bring me something chocolate.”

 

 _Wow._ “...Right. Well, like Maka said-” He turned to move towards the door, just in case to catch Sid giving him a quizzical look. His head was spinning with everything he had yet to process. “-thank you for your cooperation.”

 

* * *

  

Sometimes, it felt kind of weird getting back to their apartment after a particularly long mission.

 

It was usually even harder to sleep, harder to just lie there in the dark listening to the sounds of the city outside when he’d spent the past few days or so running on pure adrenaline, running towards something that could take both his and Maka’s lives if they weren’t careful.

 

Soul stared up at the ceiling, Duke Ellington’s _Melancholia_ pounding out softly through his headphones. He could see a glimpse of the sunrise outside, morning light beginning to trickle through his curtains and light up the room around him.

 

The conversation with Annie the night before had looping on repeat through his mind for hours on end, and it felt like it was never going to end.

 

His eyelids, which felt so damn heaved and weighed down, drooped closed, though there was no way his brain would shut up long enough for him to sleep.

 

_(Annie Channon’s sneering face, Death Scythe lying still in a coffin, surrounded by flowers from the people who loved him, the feel of Maka’s wavelength tearing him apart like a knife when he had only ever associated it with warmth and comfort, the smell of seawater-)_

 

He felt angry. Bitterly, bitterly angry. The fact that it actually felt like there was a chance, despite all that they’d been through, that they’d caught the wrong person, that they went to all that effort for _nothing_ tore at him from what felt like the inside of his gut.

 

Annie was supposed to be the killer. Once they brought her in, they were supposed to get a chance to be normal again. Different, probably, but normal. Maka was supposed to have a chance to smile like she used to.

 

_(Cold blue eyes looking fearful, Death Scythe standing like the wraith he was in a doorway, bandages wrapped around Maka’s hands-)_

 

“You know, I’m going to miss this. When I’m gone.”

 

Soul’s eyes shot back open, immediately flying to sit up.

 

Death Scythe looked more translucent than normal, likely because he was caught right in the streams of emerging daylight. He stood right at the window, staring out at the blossoming sunrise outside.

 

“Where the hell have you been?” Were the first words out of Soul’s mouth.

 

“Around,” Was the only curt answer. “You and Maka gave a hell of a wallop to yourselves. Rushing into resonance like you two did was _not_ a good idea.”

 

“We didn’t mean to,” Soul replied immediately, defensive. “Trust me, we didn’t mean to scorch ourselves up from the inside out.” But he had to admit, it probably _wasn’t_ the best idea. He’d give the man that. “Anyways, where have you been?”

 

He saw Death Scythe wince. “Whatever you two did, I think it somehow trapped me inside your soul for a while. I think, anyway.”

 

“Wait, _what?”_ Soul stared at him in alarm, because that probably wasn’t good. “Seriously?”

 

“Or at least, I think it weakened me enough that I couldn’t project out of your soul? Or maybe it did something to the barriers of your soul to keep me from getting out. I don’t know. Either way, it _really freaking hurt.”_ Death Scythe turned to shoot a stern glare at Soul, who realized that he was _definitely_ looking more translucent than normal, and not just because he was caught in direct sunlight. “And I wasn’t even the one whose _soul nearly got burnt up._ So do _not_ do that again.”

 

“Yeah...yeah, we won’t. Lord Death told us off.” Soul’s mind went off spinning again. Crap, was Death Scythe really somehow weakened by his and Maka’s disastrous resonance attempt? If Soul had been nearly burned up, what would have happened to Death Scythe if they hadn’t stopped? Especially since he was missing a large chunk of his soul. Was that why he looked more faded than normal? “Are you okay?”

 

“I’m fine. Just- felt a little wonky for a day or two, that’s all.” Soul could feel Death Scythe study him for a bit, before his form shimmered as he moved towards him, sitting on his bed. “So what did I miss in the meantime? I take it Annie’s finally in custody?”

 

“Yeah.” _(“I didn’t kill your father.”)_ “But…”

 

“What?” Death Scythe’s voice sounded sharp. There must have been something in Soul’s voice to give away that there was a chance that things weren’t going as planned. “What’s wrong?”

 

God, where would he even begin with that one? “We got her to talk. Give her side of the story. It was kind of a lot.”

 

He went on to unload everything, everything that had been keeping him up and making his mind spin. The details the Annie’s story, what Lord Death had said about their resonance rate, Maka’s silence ever since they had gotten home, which wasn’t exactly new per se, but definitely felt like the straw that broke the camel’s back.

 

Death Scythe was silent for most of it, hovering next to Soul like the phantom he was as Soul talked. It was only when Soul had finished did he finally speak.

 

“Do you need a glass of water?” Death Scythe asked.

 

Soul blinked. “What?”

 

“You were talking for a while. Your throat’s probably hurting.”

 

Soul stared at him incredulously. _Of all things…_ “Seriously?”

 

“What?”

 

“You have nothing to say about Annie or anything else? Seriously?”

 

Death Scythe made an indignant noise. “Well _fine_ , sorry for asking, you brat.”

 

“Christ, you’re such a dad,” Soul muttered under his breath, low enough so that Death Scythe couldn’t hear him before raising his voice. “I’m fine, thanks.”

 

Death Scythe rolled his eyes. “Well, I do have a lot of questions, actually. Namely whether or not you think Annie’s story is legit.”

 

“I don’t know,” Soul admitted. “I really don’t know what to think.”

 

“If she’s just spinning tall tales in an attempt to get out of being executed, then no harm, no foul. She’s not going anywhere.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“But if she’s telling the truth…” Death Scythe trailed off.

 

_Then we chased her all the way to Vegas for nothing. Then we hunted down an innocent girl, beat the shit out of her, and dragged her to face execution. Then your real murderer is walking free, and who knows where he might be now._

 

“I know,” Soul said, because he did. He did know.

 

Death Scythe was silent, his expression going dark and clearly thinking along the same lines that Soul was.

 

“If the dad was responsible, he’s probably gone by now,” Death Scythe said, voice pitched low and flat. “We have no leads to find him.”

 

“We’ll find something.” _We’ll have to. Otherwise we’d have failed._

 

Death Scythe went silent again and it caused a sharp, uncomfortable twist in Soul’s stomach.

 

 _We’ll figure it out,_ Soul wanted to say. _There has to be a way to fix this mess, to get answers. There has to be._

 

_(I don’t think I can live with myself otherwise)_

 

“I’m sorry,” Soul said, and it came out feeling almost like a confession.

 

“For what?” Death Scythe blinked over towards him in confusion. “None of this is your fault.”

 

If there was anything Soul had been really thinking about in the past several days, it was this- how could he have possibly prevented all of this? How could he have prevented Death Scythe from ending up dead on his kitchen floor? How could things have been different? It was a futile effort, really. There was no point in pondering the what-could-have-been's, he knew.

 

But he couldn't really help it. 

 

 _I’m sorry that all this shit_ _happened,_ he wanted to say. _I’m sorry we couldn’t do better. I’m sorry that we don’t even know whether we caught your killer. I’m sorry you’re dead._

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t show up on time that night.”

 

He didn’t exactly mean for that to be his response. But that’s what came out, nonetheless, because it was true, because maybe if he had shown up on time, none of this would have happened-

 

“What?” Death Scythe’s brows furrowed. “What are you- oh.” His eyes widened in realization, startled. “Seriously?”

 

“I was late on purpose.” He could feel how his voice wobbled. “I wanted to piss you off. You were being an asshole, and I wanted to piss you off.”

 

He heard Death Scythe sigh, and it sounded so damn tired.. “Yeah, I- I guess I was being an asshole. I can’t really blame you there.”

 

“But if I had just- maybe you wouldn’t-” _Fuck._ Soul wiped at his eyes, quickly.

 

“I’m glad you didn’t show up.” Death Scythe’s voice was soft. “You probably would have gotten hurt too.”

 

“You don’t know that,” Soul shot back.

 

“And you don’t know that showing up on time would have done anything,” Death Scythe shot back, fixing him with a stern, pointed glare. It felt strangely parental, like he had somehow mistaken Soul for Maka and was giving him a lecture meant for her. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t you _dare_ blame yourself for what happened. You hear me?”

 

“Yeah. Yeah.” Soul took a deep, shaky breath. “Sorry. I’m just-” _Tired. Really fucking tired._ “It’s a lot.”

 

“I know.” Soul felt a cold, almost misty pocket of air descend on his shoulder, before retreating almost immediately. Death Scythe’s hand, hovering over his shoulder, reassuring. “Trust me, I know. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry I was an asshole.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Like, in general.” Now Death Scythe’s voice was wavering. “Dear fucking _god_ I was an asshole.”

 

“It’s okay. Really.”

 

Death Scythe laughed, a weak, bitter sound that seemed more like an imitation of a laugh than an actual one. “No, it’s not. It’s really fucking not. I knew I was being an asshole. I knew I didn’t have any right to snap at you. I knew, I fucking _knew_ , but it didn’t matter. Not until it was too late. I could have done better, but I didn’t. I probably never would have, to be honest.”

 

Soul swallowed, trying to force down the lump forming in his throat. Were they back to talking about the divorce again? Probably. Either way, it felt kind of overdue.

 

“And that’s the weird thing about dying, I think. It puts a lot in perspective.” Death Scythe’s voice cracked. “Just don’t do what I did, okay? Promise me you won’t. Promise me you’ll treat my little girl like a goddamn princess. Give her everything she deserves. Protect her, keep her safe. Make sure she’s happy. Give her everything you possibly can, you hear me? Before both of your times run out, because it's so much shorter than you'd think. So much shorter.”

 

“I- I will.” Soul couldn’t help but feel taken aback. The intensity that Death Scythe had suddenly developed was disarming, to say the least, but he wasn’t going to let himself feel fazed. Especially when it was such an easy promise to make. “Fuck, of _course_ I will. But I’m- we’re not- we’re not like you and your ex-wife, you know that right?”

 

“You’re still her partner, aren’t you?” Death Scythe asked, sharply.

 

“Well yeah-”

 

“Then promise.”

 

“I promise.” The words came as simple as breathing. “Maka, she’s-” _The girl who’s seen my soul, even the darkest parts. The best damn thing to ever happen to me._ “-she’s my meister.”

 

“Damn right,” Death Scythe said, forcefully. “And you’re lucky to have her.”

 

There was another lump forming in his throat, one that he had to swallow back yet again. “I know.”

 

“And so am I.” Out of the corner of his eye, Soul saw Death Scythe scrub his face quickly. “Look, I don’t know if I’ll ever get the chance to talk to her. I don’t even if know if I’ll be- if I’ll be able to, to be honest.” Death Scythe’s voice wobbled. “I’ve never been good at- at being coherent, I guess. Especially when I’m so fucking _terrified_ , but can- can you tell her that I love her? I know I probably won’t be able to. Not- not to her face, anyway.”

 

“Yeah.” Soul’s voice was scratchy too, and he had to stare hard at the wall in front of him, at the posters in front of him, to try to keep his composure for what felt like the hundredth time that night. Because it didn’t feel like it was his place to cry, to mourn for what could have been. “‘Course I will.”

 

“And can you tell Kami that too? I know she won’t believe it, but-” Death Scythe’s voice caught on a hiccup. “Can you tell her anyway?”

 

“Yeah, of course.”

 

“And tell Stein to take care of himself, because looked _horrible_ the last time I saw him. I know he’s pretty much transcended the requirements for basic human necessity at this point, but if he could at least fucking _try_ , I’d appreciate it. Tell him- tell him that he’s better than he thinks he is. And that he should treat himself like it.”

 

That brought to mind the memory of Stein’s worn and haggard face, his expression as he stared down at his former partner lying in a coffin, and god _damn_ if that image wasn’t helping the weight in his throat and the wet heat building up in his eyes. “I will.”

 

“And tell Azusa to get that stick out of her ass and relax, for god’s sake.” Death Scythe was on a roll now, Soul could tell. “She’s been high-strung ever since we were kids, and it’s annoying as hell. Probably not that good for her in the long run, too, she might end up having a goddamn _stroke_ at this rate. And tell Marie that she’s a gorgeous, incredible, kickass woman who’s too good for any man. Tell her that she was like a little sister to me.” His voice caught again. “And tell her that I’m still rooting for her and Stein to hook up.”

 

“...Alright.” Soul wasn’t exactly sure how to respond to that one.

 

“Tell Lord Death to spend more time with Kid,” Death Scythe went on, and his voice suddenly sounded strange, a bit more off-pitch than usual. “Tell him that- that it’s precious, the time you get with your children. It’ll never feel enough, but... tell him that if he doesn’t appreciate Kid while he can, I’ll come from wherever afterlife I end up in and kick his ass.”

 

Soul blinked, taken aback. “What?”

 

“Don’t worry about it.” And Death Scythe was suspiciously not looking at him, the fall of his hair over his face concealing his expression. “Just- just tell him, okay? He’ll know what I’m talking about. Just tell him that he _better_ listen.”

 

A part of him wanted to push, because he had a distinct sense that there was _something_ important and potentially alarming about what Death Scythe had just said. But he had a feeling there was already way too much to unpack, so he just decided to let that lay where it lie, and secretly file it away to ponder for later. “...Alright.”

 

“Tell Black Star to give Tsubaki and Sid a break, sometimes,” Death Scythe didn’t sound like he would be stopping anytime soon. “And to be careful. That being too powerful can be a bad thing. Tell Kid that he’s gonna be an awesome Grim Reaper one day. Tell Excalibur to fuck off if you ever run into him again. Tell Blair that- that she’s been an amazing friend. That I appreciate her always being willing to listen to me, for looking out for Maka.”

 

His voice had been sounding increasingly thin, drawn out and wobbly, like a worn string about to snap.

 

“God, there’s so much I want to say. Dying’s weird that way too. Everything- everything falls away so fast.”

 

The air was starting to feel cold. But it was different than before- instead of feeling like blistering, icy anger or frustration, it felt heavier. More weighted, more oppressive. Like a dark, heavy rain cloud so thick with regret and bitterness it was almost suffocating.

 

“I don’t want to die.” Death Scythe’s voice had gone small, and when he spoke, it almost sounded like a confession.

 

Soul felt like he couldn’t breathe, and not just because of the weighted air.

 

“I remember you asked me how you could help me pah- pass on. I don’t think you could even if you tried.” Death Scythe’s voice caught on a sob. “Because I never wanted to die. Plain and fucking simple. I don’t want to fade away to whatever afterlife’s waiting for me. I want to be alive again. I want to be able to drink wine, read my books, _hug my_ _daughter_.”

 

It wasn’t his place to cry, Soul reminded himself fiercely.

 

It wasn’t his life that had been lost, his future that had been robbed.

 

“Is that just me being stupid?” Death Scythe whispered.

 

“No,” Soul responded, immediately. “No, you’re not.”

 

“It feels like I am. I can’t change what happened. I _have_ to accept it, or I’ll go insane. I know I will. Especially once the pieces of my soul are reunited. Once I have to leave.” Death Scythe sniffed, wiped a fading hand across his face. “It’d be easier if I knew I wasn’t leaving so much crap behind. That my daughter could remember me as something other than the asshole who hurt her mother. If I _was_ something other than the asshole who hurt her mother.”

 

“She loves you,” Soul said, immediately. “I’ve told you this.”

 

Death Scythe sniffed again, but didn’t respond.

 

“Death Scythe,” Soul tried again.

 

“Spirit,” Death Scythe said suddenly. “Call me by my name, for god’s sake.

 

Spirit. _(“Papa’s name before he became a death scythe.”)_ Spirit Albarn.

 

“Spirit,” Soul tried, and the name felt strange on his mouth. He always thought of him as just Death Scythe. Most people did, anyway. _Spirit_ felt so personal.

 

But, what the hell? They’d seen one another’s souls. Death Scythe was pouring his thoughts and feelings out to him for the second time, then. It had probably gotten personal a long time ago.

 

“She loves you,” Soul repeated. “There’s a lot of crap that you left her with, that she has to sort out, but there’s good on top of the bad. Trust me on that, all right?”

 

 _Just agree on trying to talk to her, you asshole,_ he wanted to say, but he decided to keep his mouth shut on that for the time being.

 

The specter next to him was silent, and the dark cloud churned a little, bunching closer to Death Scythe.

 

They sat in that silence for a while. The sun had risen higher, illuminating almost the entire room in a dim light.

 

“By the way.” Soul got to his feet, padded to the other end of the room towards his school clothes draped over his desk chair to fish a slightly-crumpled, folded piece of paper from his pants pocket, before setting it on the desk for Death Scythe to read. “I almost forgot- Patty said to give this to you.”

 

“Huh?” Death Scythe- _Spirit-_ blinked, looking bewildered. He got to his feet hesitantly, moving towards the desk. “Give what?”

 

Soul flipped the card open, and that alone was enough to cause of puff of glitter to spread over his desk.

 

“ _SORRY YOU’RE DEAD”_ said giant, glittery pink letters in Patty’s handwriting.

 

“ _We miss you!”_ said a hastily added message in ink in Tsubaki’s handwriting.

 

Followed by half a dozen signatures, Black Star’s in particular taking up most of the space.

 

“Patty insisted on making you a card,” Soul said.

 

The expression on Death Scythe’s face flickered, and the dark cloud dissipated in what felt like an instant.

 

“She- she did?” Death Scythe- Spirit, goddammit, that was going to take some getting used to- asked almost hesitantly as he stood next to Soul, one faded, misty hand hovered over the paper hesitantly, like he was afraid it would burst into flames if he touched it.

 

“Yeah. And half of the class signed it. I think some of them wrote stuff in there too, I don’t know.”

 

“Really?” Spirit’s voice wobbled again, sounding like he was about to break into tears all over again.

 

Soul felt a small, bittersweet smile tug at his lips. “Yeah.”

 

Like always, he could feel it- Spirit’s emotions, filtering into the environment around them. But it was notable that time because for once, it felt lighter. It was probably the closest thing to happy he’d probably gotten in a while, or at least pleased.

 

“Tell her thank you for me,” Spirit managed. “I love it.”

 

“Alright, I will.” _People care about you, old man. Even if you are a bastard who hurt his family. People are mourning you. They miss you, will miss you when you have to go. I really hope you realize that, at the very least._

 

The faint sound of a door slam caught his attention, all the way from the entrance to the apartment. Soul’s ears immediately perked up, listening for anything else.

 

Then, not long later, there was a familiar knock on his door.

 

“Soul?” Maka’s voice was soft and quiet, not at all helped by the door muffling the sound. “Are you awake?”

 

Spirit’s head jerked up.

 

“Yeah, I’m up,” Soul called, heart racing a bit in a brief flare of panic that came from a sleep-deprived uncertainty, because he had no idea whether or not he should acknowledge Spirit’s presence to Maka, because that sure as hell hadn’t gone well the last few times around-

 

But either way, he didn’t get long to contemplate it, because his door creaked open to reveal his fully-dressed meister, clad in slippers, a hoodie, and jeans with what looked like a large, heavy packet held gingerly in both of her hands.

 

“Stein was just by-” Maka started as she let herself in, stepped in through Soul’s room-

 

-and without warning, a small flare of blue light that looked like it had been perched on top of Maka’s packet suddenly glowed, causing Maka to stop in her tracks with a gasp.

 

“What-?” Soul managed in that split second, bewildered and taken aback beyond belief.

 

Spirit suddenly doubled over with a sharp gasp, and his body, just like it had did in Annie’s father’s workshop, flickered into something that sure as hell wasn’t completely solid, but definitely not as faded as he was before.

 

Maka let out a small shriek, recoiling against the door and eyes going wide in shock.

 

Then the light flickered, and Soul saw it. A small portion of what was undeniably a soul, lighting up and glowing, sparking a bit from where it had clearly been severed from the rest of it.

 

“Oh my god,” He heard Maka choke out.

 

And then, the soul shot towards him like it was gunfire, striking him hard in the chest.

 

His vision went blurry, he felt himself stumble, heard Maka cry out his name-

 

**.**

 

The water, which had risen up to his knees, rippled.

 

**.**

 

“-oul? Soul!”

 

“Give a sign if you can hear us! Say something!”

 

 _“Ngh,”_ Was all Soul could manage, blinking disorientedly up at the face hovering above him. He felt a bit _weird_ , though he couldn’t quite explain how or why.

 

“Oh god.” That was Spirit, sounding panicked. “Oh god, please say you’re okay.”

 

“Are you okay?!” Maka looked panicked, one of her hands hovering hesitantly near his head. “Did you hit your head?”

 

“‘M fine,” Soul managed to get out, and moved to sit up.

 

“Don’t move, you might have a head injury-” Maka let out a frustrated noise as soon as he was sitting up, blinking confusedly at her. “Okay, fine, never mind.”

 

“I’m fine,” Soul repeated, vehemently, though he felt a little dizzy as he blinked at Maka, at Death Scythe- Spirit!- who were both looking at him with similar expressions of worry.

 

They were kneeling next to him on the floor. He was on his bedroom floor, just where he had been seconds(?) ago.

 

“Alright.” Maka sounded hesitant, fingers hovering near his shoulders, before withdrawing.

 

“Thank god.” Spirit exhaled, but he looked a bit dazed himself.

 

“What the hell was that?” Soul demanded.

 

“A piece of Papa’s soul,” Maka responded, almost sheepishly.

 

“What?!” Spirit near-screeched, grating on Soul’s ears.

 

 _“What?”_ Soul echoed.

 

“...Lord Death managed to pull the piece of Papa’s soul from Annie. Stein just came by to drop it off, along of the copy with the case report.” Maka’s eyes darted around the room, brows furrowing together. “I saw Papa again. _I saw Papa again.”_

 

“That’s what happened at the studio,” Spirit said immediately, brows knitting together.

 

“It must have been a reaction to the two parts of his soul coming close to one another,” Maka said suddenly. “I think- I think the piece that was attached to Annie’s just attached to the piece attached to you. That _had_ to be be what that was.”

 

Soul noticed that her brows were drawn together in the confused way they did when she was puzzling something over in her head, gears turning over and over behind her eyes. He had no idea what she was thinking, though, and he was a bit too dazed at the moment to try to make an effort to guess.

 

“Why didn’t you say something?!" He demanded. "A little warning might have been nice!”

  
  
“I didn’t know it would do _that!”_ Maka shot back, but she wasn’t quite looking at him. Her eyes were far-off in thought, and he could practically see her mind churning.

 

“So wait- Stein just dropped it off?” Soul asked, somewhat incredulous at the mental image. “He was just carrying around a piece of a soul in his pocket or something and dropped it off here?”

 

“Yeah. He was acting kind of funny, so I told him to go home.” The gears paused for a second, suddenly freezing still. “Soul...is Papa- is Papa still here?”

 

Soul glanced over at Spirit, who had suddenly gone back to looking just as faded as he was before Maka had walked into his room. “Yeah. He is. You can’t see him?”

 

Maka swallowed, face paling a little. “No. No I can’t. That’s the problem.”

 

“What?”

 

“That means there’s still pieces of his soul missing, right?” Maka had a hint of steel to it, a familiar determination as she looked at him with a sudden sense of urgency. “If his soul didn’t release, that has to mean it’s not whole.”

 

 _Well, fuck._ Soul sighed, running a hand through his hair. “So we need to figure out where the rest of the pieces of his soul are.”

 

“Soul,” Spirit said suddenly. “The door. Remember?”

 

“Wha-?” Then Soul remembered.

 

The imposing figure of the sealed, iron door on the far edge of his and Spirit’s overlapped souls. The thousands of wavelengths he had sensed, woven together like spiderwebs to create a barrier to keep anyone out.

 

_(“The conflicting wavelengths would- they’d create a sort of web, I guess, to freeze the captured soul into place and keep it stationary, for as long as years on end,” Annie had said)_

 

It really said a lot about their situation that he had almost completely forgotten about that amid everything that was going on.

 

“Crap,” Soul said aloud.

 

“What?” Maka asked.

 

It didn’t take long to tell her about the door, the wavelengths he’d sensed. The fact that Spirit had specifically sensed his soul behind that door, but it was trapped, locked away to where they couldn’t get to it.

 

And when he finished, Maka was silent. But that look was back- the furrowed brows, the gears turning behind her eyes.

 

“She was telling the truth, then,” Maka said softly. So softly.

 

“What?” Soul asked, staring at her.

 

“Or at least...it’s looking more and more likely that she was.” Maka swallowed, frame suddenly tense. “Soul, if there's another piece of Papa's soul missing, then- then that means either she locked it away somewhere...”

 

“...Or there was another person there the night he died," he finished, realization hitting.

 

“Fuck,” She mumbled, before standing, plucking up the previously discarded file folder from the floor as she stood. _“Fuck._ Come on.”


	11. sins of the father and retreating floodwater

“Alright. Thanks Sid. Bye.” Soul heard the click of the phone against the receiver before Maka padded back over to flop down next to Soul. “So Sid said he’d talk to Lord Death. They’re going to look at the security camera footage, talk to people around the neighborhood, try to see if anyone caught a glimpse of Haru Saiko.”

 

“Good.” Soul glanced up at her from a transcripted interview he was reading with one of Death Scythe’s neighbors. The contents of the case folder were enough to be scattered all over the coffee table, the floor, the opposing sofa. 

 

“Sid told us that we should try to re-interview some of the security guards that were on duty that night, see if maybe they’d seen anything,” Maka went on. She didn’t sound particularly happy about their assigned task, which likely had to do with the fact that she wasn’t directly in the middle of the main investigation. But since it was still technically productive, she wasn’t complaining. “Show them Saiko’s picture, try to record the details of what they were doing that night, see if their stories hold up.”

 

“Sounds good.” Soul immediately made a grab for where he vaguely remembered they placed the notes and records Sid had compiled on each of the guards working that night, and pulled the two large stacks of papers off the far right corner of the coffee table. “Did he give any names of anyone in particular we should check out?”

 

“If not, he probably wrote it down somewhere in the files,” Spirit said from where he was leaning over Soul’s shoulder, eyes cast downwards to skim over the papers Soul was holding in his lap. “Sid’s usually pretty meticulous in his notes.”

 

“He did, actually,” Maka responded as she flopped down onto the couch next to him, and Soul gave a start at the way her shoulder bumped into his as she sat down. “He mentioned a guy named Norman Wilkes. You have his file?”

 

“Yeah, somewhere.” _Wilkes, Wilkes…_ Soul flipped through the folders, which had been stacked in alphabetical order, before reaching to the end of the first stack in his lap and realizing it was probably in the second. So he set the first aside, flipped to the back of the second, and bingo. “Here it is. Norman Wilkes.”

 

When he flipped it open, he was greeted with what looked like a driver’s license photo of a man with a solemn expression and a face that seemed vaguely familiar.

 

“He wasn’t actually on duty that night, he had gotten off that afternoon,” Maka said, her eyes skimming over the notes underneath the photo. “But he was seen coming back that night, not long after you found the body, saying that he was trying to find his wallet.”

 

“Seriously?” Soul asked. “That’s not suspicious at all.”

 

Maka scowled. “Yeah, that’s what Sid thought too. But they’ve searched his house, put him on a sort of modified house arrest, and have been background-checking him like crazy, and he seems pretty legit. Still, Sid says to talk to him again.”

 

“Right.” Then the memory clicked, all the way back to that night, to a guy called Norm who had cloudy blue eyes and a Southern accent. “Wait, I remember him, actually. He was talking to the guard at the front desk when I went up to Death Scythe’s apartment.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“What about a guy named Chuck Myers?” Maka had taken the first stack to flip though, producing a file and flipping it open, revealing a picture of a man with a heavy-set forehead and the most distinct unibrow Soul had ever seen.

 

“Nope, definitely would have remembered him,” Soul replied.

 

“Well, apparently he and Papa didn’t get along. Sid didn’t give me the details, but he said that pretty much everyone who worked in the building knew that he didn’t like Papa.”

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Soul saw Spirit scowl. “Oh yeah, he was an asshole.”

 

“Anyone else?” Soul asked.

 

“Nope,” Maka replied, shifting a little in her spot. Her shoulder was right next to Soul’s, and Soul couldn't help it, he felt his heart give a little jump up in his throat. It was the closest they had come into contact since Spirit had died.

 

And that wasn’t _important_ at the moment. He had to _focus_ for fuck’s sake.

 

“We should probably look over what Sid wrote down for all of them before we go,” Maka went on, thankfully oblivious. “I’ll take this half, you take that half?”

 

“Sounds good,” Soul replied, before finally deciding to speak up. “Hey...Maka?”

 

“What?” Maka asked, turning towards him.

 

God, why did he feel so awkward asking that question? “Are you okay?”

 

Maka blinked, before something in her expression draw itself in tight, and she turned away.

 

“I’m fine, Soul,” Maka replied, somewhat stiffly, but he saw how she almost absent-mindedly rubbed at the bandages on her hands as she turned back towards the papers. “Let’s just get this done, all right?”

 

 _Away, away,_ a little voice crooned in the back of his head. _She always turns away lately, doesn’t she?_

 

Soul gritted his teeth, and pushed it away.

 

Maka was a terrible liar. She wouldn’t have been convincing even if he had known how screwed up their resonance was, how screwed they were at the moment, bandaged and sore and withdrawn and uncertain.

 

“We need to figure this out at some point, you know that right?” Soul asked, lowly.

 

He saw how her shoulders tensed. “What if there’s nothing to figure out? You heard what Lord Death said. Our souls could sustain permanent damage. We could never resonate at all ever again.” It was just barely there, but Soul caught it- her lip wobbled a little. “We just- we need to stay focused. We need to get Papa out of your soul, we-” Her voice caught, scratched on itself like a record, before skipping over to a whole new topic. “Look, how about we just head out right now? We can interview Norm first. Okay?”

 

He wanted to push it. There was a part of him that wanted to scream in frustration, because was she _trying_ to push him away? Was she angry that they weren’t sure about what had happened anymore? Was she angry at Death Scythe? At him?

 

Soul genuinely couldn't say. She technically couldn’t even be his meister anymore if the problems in their wavelengths continued, so how the hell would he know?

 

“Fine,” he said tartly.

 

Maka got up from the couch then, moving briskly towards her room, likely going to grab her coat from her room, leaving Soul alone on the couch.

 

He glanced up at Death Scythe- Spirit, he reminded himself, but god did it still feel weird to think of him as that- just to see if he had anything useful to say.

 

But no, Spirit seemed content not to look at him, eyes focused straight on the floor instead.

 

So Soul sighed, let his head thump against the back of the sofa.

 

He was so, so damn tired.

 

* * *

 

They went to Wilkes’ house first.

 

Later, when everything was all over, Soul would be glad they had.

 

Norman Wilkes lived in a small, bungalow-style house with an old red minivan parked in the front driveway and porch steps that creaked as they walked up to the front door to ring the doorbell. The insides of his house looked smaller than how it looked on the outside, filled with clutter and oversized furniture. It had a sort of cozy feel to it, especially when coupled with Wilkes’ insistence that they make themselves at home, his offer of tea, which they both politely declined.

 

Wilkes himself was a bit of a heavyset guy, with a perpetually serious expression and a soft-spoken, gentle demeanor. He was 78 years old, having graduated exactly sixty years ago. He had worked in Russia as a Two-Star agent for more than thirty years before retiring to work a position within Death City, in order to be near his family after his wife’s death from cancer. Neighbors and friends said he tended to keep to himself, especially after Death Scythe's death, but that he was generally well-liked, and Soul had to admit it was easy to see why.

 

“I apologize for the mess,” Wilkes was saying, practically tittering as he led them into a small living room. “My kids went off overseas recently, and I’ve gotten pretty used to not havin’ anyone around. My youngest just reached two-star status, y’see.”

 

“Congratulations,” Maka replied, politely. “I’m sure you’re proud.”

 

“Darn right I am. Just wish I had some other company than the dust mites sometimes, but it’s not so bad.” Wilkes chuckled a bit, before sombering. “So, another interview, huh?”

 

“Unfortunately, yes,” Maka responded. “You’ve probably been grilled top to bottom already, huh?”

 

“To a crisp,” Wilkes replied, though he didn’t sound too put out about it. “I gotta say, you guys have been keeping real close tabs on me. Can’t blame you, though. S’terrible what happened to Death Scythe. I only ever talked to him a few times, but he seemed like a decent enough guy.”

 

“High praise,” Spirit remarked dryly from the corner, where he was busying himself studying an arrangement of family photos hung on the nearby wall. “But thanks.”

 

“So, you’re living on your own?” Soul asked. “Nobody else around?”

 

“That’s right,” Wilkes responded. He reached forward, to where he had clearly been previously eating breakfast, in order to pick up a half-eaten pastry and take a small bite out of it.

 

“Where were you the night Death Scythe died?” Maka asked. She sounded composed, clinical, ready to take notes on the notepad she had brought. Wilkes likely didn’t notice any difference, but Soul did. “Walk us through everything you did that night.”

 

“Well, I came home as soon as my shift was over. Placed a call to my daughter around 3 PM, I’d say. After that, I just watched some television for a while.” Wilkes’ words flowed smoothly, as if he had gone through this all before. He sounded more like he was rattling off a checklist than recounting a series of events.

 

Meanwhile, Spirit was walking slowly around the room in a half-circle, seemingly meticulously, carefully, checking out everything in the room. Two of the walls were lined in tall bookshelves, tall enough to almost reach the ceiling. They were storing tons of books, knick-knacks, and even more family photos, from the looks of it.

 

“Around 5 PM, I decided to go out to get a bite to eat. There’s a small Thai place about a block from here that just opened about a week ago, so I decided to try that out. I drove down there, only to realize I didn’t have my wallet. And of course, I panicked, so that’s when I headed back to work- oh, no, wait a second.” Hazy blue eyes blinked, recollecting, before going on. “Sorry, first I went back to my house. I tore apart my car, my house, and _then_ I decided to head back to work. I believe this was about 7 PM.”

 

The blue in Wilkes’ eyes was weirdly distracting, especially the longer he looked at it, though Soul couldn’t quite pinpoint why. They were a light, faded blue, and were weirdly glazed over like miniature kaleidoscopes.

 

“It took a few hours to find my wallet, and on the way out I stopped to talk to Ernie, a friend of mine. That’s when that Soul Eater boy came in, and-” Wilkes blinked at Soul, eyes widening in recognition. “And _that’s_ why you look so familiar! I knew I had seen you from somewhere!”

 

Then, next to the bookcases, Spirit took another slow, lazy step forward, to continue his apparent scan of the entire room.

 

And that’s when everything went to hell.

 

It was at a completely unassuming bookcase, one that was wedged in between nearly a dozen other bookcases that were just like it. It could have been _any_ of the bookcases, to be honest.

 

“I introduced myself when we came here,” Soul pointed out.

 

“Well, yes, but I didn’t make that connection until now-”

 

And that was when Spirit doubled over with a gasp for the third time, like he had been shocked by a lightning bolt directly to the chest. For the third time, Soul was greeted with the sight of his corporeal body flickering, becoming less faded, with the sight of Maka’s head and everybody else’s present whipping around, the gasp of shock that came out of her as soon as she saw her father.

 

“What the- ?!” Wilkes gasped, voice cracking.

 

Spirit’s eyes were wide as he stumbled, one hand going up to steady himself against the bookcase and the other scrabbling at his chest with a pained gasp. His body flickered again, returning to its previous state of transparency, but then, to Soul’s shock, it flickered back again, and then again.

 

 _“Soul-!”_ Spirit gasped, voice high-pitched and expression wide in shock and confusion, hand still desperately pawing at his chest as he flickered in and out of existence like a living glitch.

 

It took a second to comprehend what just happened, what it meant.

 

_(“Must be a reaction to the other pieces of his soul-”)_

 

“The bookcase-!” Spirit managed to choke out. “The _bookcase,_ there’s something behind the bookcase-”

 

Maka recovered before Soul did, notebook and pencil clattering to the floor as she lunged towards the bookcase. She grabbed it by the sides, and with a loud, high-pitched grunt, pulled it down with a surge of adrenaline-fueled brute strength, the kind that could only come from a meister.

 

“Don’t-!” Came Wilkes’ cry as he lunged forward, knocking past Soul as he went, kaleidoscope eyes looking frantic.

 

In that split second, Soul got a whiff of the man’s breath as he let out that frantic cry, more specifically, he caught the faint scent of strawberries. Specifically, the sticky-sweet scent of artificial strawberry filling, the kind that was used in cheap donuts and pastries. His eyes immediately went down to the half-eaten pastry, left having tumbled to the ground, a bright red glaze leaking out of where he had clearly taken a few bites.

 

_(“My dad loves strawberries. He loves them a lot.”)_

 

Wilkes had blue eyes, Soul suddenly realized, just as the bookshelf came down with an impressively loud crash. They were almost an icy blue.

 

Just like Annie’s.

 

 _No fucking way,_ was his first thought, before he saw what exactly was behind the bookshelf.

 

Later on, he would learn that the bookshelves had been rearranged to conceal the closet, and that the closet door had been taken off to accommodate such a change.

 

But that sure as hell didn’t matter at that moment, because instead, he was faced with the view of a hollowed out closet.

 

The first thing he saw was a large, lumpy _thing_ that had been forced awkwardly in layers of thick garbage bags, shoved in the corner, lolled against a wall. His stomach twisted as he recognized the _shape_ , recognized it for what it probably was.

 

The next thing he saw was a flickering light, a small blue orb, beating itself frantically against the bars of what looked like an iron cage perched on the top shelf.

 

It felt like time had stopped. Everything had frozen, Maka in front of the closet, mouth gone open in shock, Spirit in the corner seemingly frozen in his place as he flickered in and out of various stages of existence, everything except for the glowing blue orb bouncing around in the insides of it’s cage.

 

But at the same time, Soul barely had the chance to process what the hell was happening before his windpipe caved in at the arm that had suddenly locked him into a chokehold, yanking him backwards and causing him to give a loud, choked gasp before he heard a click of a gun barrel, right next to his temple.

 

“Soul!” He heard Maka cry, horror lacing her voice.

 

“Nobody move.” The voice right next to his ear had suddenly turned into a deep, rough baritone, so unlike the soft-spoken Southern accent that had greeted him at the front door. “Unless you want him to lose bits of his brain. And that goes for you too, ghost.”

 

His first instinct was to transform an arm, to try to swing it at him, but then he felt the tip of a barrel pressed directly against the side of his skull, ready to shoot if he even moved.

 

He was forced to freeze in place, one arm transformed and held out awkwardly, and facing Maka and Spirit, whose wide eyes and panicked expressions mirrored one another almost perfectly.

 

“Step away from the closet, please,” Said the voice next to his ear. A voice that was definitely not the like the one that had greeted them at the front door, despite the fact that they apparently belonged to the same person. “Away. Now.”

 

And from Soul’s perspective, he could clearly see the rest of that the hidden closet had been hiding- what looked like a small silver pistol resting on the shelf next to the cage that clearly contained a part of Spirit’s soul, a large black case in the far corner, surrounded by what looked like wigs and pieces of rubber-

 

Not just rubber, Soul realized, and it all clicked together in a terrifying moment of realization. Masks.

 

Masks just like the ones in Saiko’s workshop. Uncanny, hyper-realistic masks that Saiko seemed to pride himself in.

 

“You’re not Norman Wilkes, are you?” Maka asked softly, voice wavering ever-so-slightly, and Soul could _tell_ that she had somehow reached the same conclusion he had.

 

“I said _step away from the closet,”_ The voice snarled, and Soul heard the trigger click-

 

Maka obeyed instantly, backing far away from the closet, on the opposite side of her father.

 

“Haru Saiko,” Soul choked out, voice garbled and breathy at the tight hold around his throat, but his mind running a mile a minute in an effort to process everything that had just happened.

 

He could feel how the man that had him in a chokehold froze at the name, suddenly going still, and that’s when he knew.

 

_(Annie was telling the truth)_

 

Maka’s face had gone stark white, but he saw how her fists had clenched, how her chin leveled, eyes darkened at they stared at the man in front of her, the man currently holding a gun to Soul’s head. He saw Spirit in the corner, form finally flickering into the state Soul was used to as he recoiled away from the fallen bookcase. He looked like he had just gotten the breath knocked out of him, staring up at Soul and the man who had his arm dangerously close to crushing Soul’s windpipe in a sort of dumbfounded shock. The air around them had definitely gone cold with it.

 

And for a long, tense moment, they stood in a classic Mexican standoff, frozen in place, in time, nobody daring to even breathe.

 

 _“Haru Saiko,”_ Maka spat out, like the name was venom on her lips.

 

The man holding him hostage was silent, and Soul could practically hear the gears turning in his head, weighing his options, deciding his next move.

 

“That name died a long time ago,” the man finally replied. “I gave it up, sacrificed it in the memory of my Jana.”

 

Maka’s lips curled into a snarl. From the opposite corner, her father’s eyes were like twin moons, wide and vulnerable as he stared up at the man in front of him, his _murderer_ in front of him, right across the room.

 

“You killed him.” Maka voice sounded strangled, choked out through her teeth. _“You killed him.”_

 

“I suppose I did,” The man, Saiko, responded. His voice was steady, even, completely unbothered by the confession.

 

The temperature of the room dropped several degrees lower. Spirit’s eyes had gone dark, and Soul was struck once again by the realization of how similar him and his daughter looked when suddenly struck with a murderous rage.

 

“I’m going to kill you.” Maka’s voice was trembling, her entire body was trembling, something had clearly ignited as she stood facing her father’s real killer and she looked like she was about to burst apart at the seams and tear apart everything in her wake. “I’m going to _fucking kill you-”_

 

“You don’t have to.” Saiko’s voice was as calm as if he was talking about the weather. “I have no ill will towards you, girl. You had no influence in your parents’ crimes.”

 

 _“Crimes?!”_ Maka choked out, voice high-pitched and breathy as she barked out a stark, disbelieving laugh. “ _You’re_ one to talk about crimes.”

 

“Do you realize your parents killed my wife?” And finally, there was an edge of _something_ in Saiko’s voice, something angry and made of steel.

 

“Do _you_ realize your wife killed dozens of people?” Maka shot back. “Including children?”

 

Soul heard him growl, a low-pitched, almost animalistic sound, and he felt Saiko’s finger shift, right against the trigger about to pull-

 

“NO!” Two voices screamed at the same time, blending together, and the air around them _hummed-_

 

-and every light in the room exploded.

 

The room was plunged into a barely-lit darkness with the sound of glass shattering, the only thing clearly visible being the piece of Spirit’s soul, still twinkling and spazzing out in it’s cage. Saiko let out a yelp in surprise, and the minute his grip loosened Soul did the first thing he could think of, which was sinking his teeth, all razor-sharp points, into the arm right against his neck.

 

Saiko let out a screech, and the gun went off just millimeters away from Soul’s head.

 

“SOUL!” Maka's voice shrieked, voice laced with horror. He’d learn later that in that moment, Maka had thought for a second that he had been shot.

 

Soul managed to tear himself away by way of ramming an elbow as hard as he could into Saiko’s ribcage, causing the man to double over, swear, and lose his balance to hit the ground hard with a loud thump.

 

“MAKA RUN!” He screamed back. He could make out her silhouette in the darkness, running towards him, could make out Saiko’s outline scrambling past him, towards the closet. He felt Maka’s hand closed around his wrist to yank him forward towards the direction of the front door-

 

“DUCK!” Spirit’s voice suddenly screamed. “SOUL, MAKA, _GET DOWN!”_

 

Thank god that the command registered, that Soul grabbed Maka around the waist to yank her down just as he felt a whistle of air fly just over his head-

 

_BANG!_

 

Glass exploded as the invisible bullet collided with a window, causing the draped to go askew and bits of glass and window frame flew everywhere. Light began to stream in, dimly illuminating the room, illuminating Saiko, who stood in the doorframe holding not the pistol he had before, but a small, bulky silver gun that looked it had been assembled from various other gun parts and glowed a faint, electric blue.

 

“Dammit,” Soul heard him swear before cocking it, causing the gun to glow even brighter, humming with a surge of energy as he stalked towards them-

 

_(“She developed a sort of gun”)_

 

 _(“One that could concentrate on a soul inside the host, fire a sort of tractor beam to hook into it, and rip it out. Literally,_ **_rip_ ** _it out-”)_

 

They scrambled to their feet just as it fired again, the glow of the gun surging forward into a burst of energy that just barely managing to avoid. The blast slammed into the hardwood floor where they had just been, completely obliterating the wood before causing it to fly upward in a burst that send bits of wood flying everywhere.

 

Maka lunged forward, then, before Soul could stop her, lunged forward to tackle Saiko to the legs and causing them both to hit the ground hard.

 

“Maka!” He yelled, diving after her, heart leaping into his throat because _seriously, since when was it a good idea to run_ **_towards_ ** _the guy with the gun?!_

 

But she somehow managed to grab onto the gun during the ensuing scuffle, and held onto it even as Saiko tried to shake her and Soul off, tried to roll away and kick at them. Soul managed to grab onto his free arm to try to pin it down, but the guy was crazy-strong. Strong enough to keep Soul busy one had and cling onto the gun with the other, glaring up at Maka with furious, crazed eyes as she managed to hold him there, gun barrel left shaking, caught between two holds, and pointing up at the ceiling.

 

“Get the gun,” Soul heard Spirit’s voice chanting, the air was ice-cold but it buzzed with a frantic, helpless energy- there was nothing he could really _do_ after all, no way he could _help_ . “Oh my _god, get the gun_ , _get the gun-”_

 

“I wonder if you’ll bleed like your father did,” Saiko spat out at Maka, spittle flying up and likely hitting her in the face. And up close, Soul could see a weird sort of puckering right at his ear, indicating where false flesh met real skin, skin-colored makeup smudged off his neck. “I wonder if you’ll lie on the ground, limp and umoving-”

 

Maka bared her teeth in a snarl, complete and utter rage contorting her face into something that looked more animalistic than human, trying again to yank the gun upwards in a sharp, angry, violent motion, but Saiko wasn’t budging.

 

“I was going to go after your mother next!” He hissed. “Fashion their souls into charms to leave onto my wife’s grave, or to wear around my neck-”

 

“Shut the fuck up!” Maka howled.

 

“You remind me of my daughter,” Saiko went on, and a little grin actually twisted onto his face, the smug bastard- “She’s an insolent girl, my daughter. I love her, though. Maybe I’ll leave your soul on her grave after she’s executed.”

 

The gun glowed, suddenly, coming to life and humming in their hands.

 

“Or maybe I’ll leave your weapon’s,” Saiko grunted.

 

With what looked like a great, effort-filled heave, he swung his arm around, pulling Maka along with it, with the gun barrel pointed right at Soul.

 

“No-!” Maka screamed, just as the trigger pulled and the gun fired.

 

His brain didn’t even have time to react.

 

But his reflexes did, born from years of fighting at Maka’s side, years of defensive training down from the basics he had learned in his first year at the DWMA.

 

His arm automatically transformed into a blade in face of a blow, automatically raised up to block it right against the nozzle of the gun before his brain had even caught up with what was happening.

 

_BANG!_

 

He felt metal splinter in a horrific screeching that mixed into his own scream of pain, a sound he knew he would remember until the day he died. The energy recoiled, hit the gun, and shuddered.

 

In the split second before the resulting explosion, Soul could see Saiko’s eyes widen in alarm.

 

His vision went white. His ears rang, he could feel his wavelength crackle-

 

**.**

 

“Oh my-!” the demon began, startled, before letting out an unholy screech as the surface of the mirror shattered-

 

**.**

 

The explosion shook the entire room. Soul could hear the house shudder under its shockwaves, heard furniture crumble and glass break, heard Maka’s cry and a thud as her body was thrown into a wall.

 

He could hear the sound of an iron cage crashing to the ground

 

In fact, that was the last thing he saw, before his world went dark.

 

And then-

 

**.**

 

The water was draining.

 

He just stood there, watching in bewilderment at the realization that the level of it was _going down_ at a fairly steady pace.

 

And not only that, the view outside the windows looked clearer than they had in days.

 

“That _hurt,”_ He heard the demon whine, could see it rubbing its head from behind the surface of the cracked mirror. 

 

“Can it,” Soul said immediately.

 

“Soul?”

 

He froze.

 

It was a familiar voice, once that he knew better than his own almost. Small and disbelieving, one that he hadn’t heard in this room for what felt like an eternity.

 

He turned to see her standing there, coat fluttering around her ankles like she had just been whisked from a dream.

 

“Maka,” He managed, before lunging forward, utter joy overtaking him because she was here, she had reached his soul. “Maka!”  


“Soul,” She gasped just as he caught her, wrapped her up tight like a goddamn dork and let out a sob, because _she had reached his soul._ The weight of that relief was so heavy he almost wanted to cry, and even better was that she was hugging him back.

 

She was _hugging him back,_ and she was _there_ , she was with _him_ , and Soul had never felt more overjoyed to see her in his life.

 

Then he felt her stiffen, and before he knew it she had drawn back from him.

 

“What?” Soul asked, before he saw that she was staring over his shoulder, eyes wide like she was a deer in headlights.

 

He followed her gaze to see Spirit, standing so perfectly still, staring at his daughter with the same frozen expression that his daughter wore.

 

“Papa?” Maka finally said, suddenly sounding years younger than she actually was, looking at her father like she was afraid he was about to disappear from her sight, like he had so many times before.

 

Spirit’s mouth opened, then closed, all but gaping as his eyes started to water under her stare, as his frame started to tremble, as Maka took a single hesitant forward like she was in a daze.

 

“Maka-” He managed to choke out, his voice small.

 

Soul heard Maka’s breath catch sharply, saw the moisture starting to pool in her eyes.

 

“Maka,” Spirit repeated faintly, like her name was a prayer, a confession, even. “I’m sorry-”

 

He was cut off by Maka lunging forward, wrapping his arms around him so tightly and with such force that Spirit stumbled as he caught her.

 

Soul could hear Maka sobbing into his shirt, could hear Spirit crying just as hard, just as messily. Could see how tightly they clung to one another, how they rocked together in a desperate, grief-filled rhythm.

 

“I missed you,” Maka choked out, voice muffled through tears and her father’s shirt. _“Papa-”_

 

Spirit only sobbed harder, pressing one kiss after another into the crown of her head.

 

Soul’s chest felt tight even after they finally separated, both still sniveling and whimpering with red faces and runny eyes, their faces both a mess and frames still shaking.

 

Meanwhile, the water was down to their ankles, down enough that Soul could see the black and white tile. There was dim light starting to stream through the windows, not as bright as it once was, but bright enough to start lighting up the room again.

 

In the corner of his eyes he could see the demon watching from behind its mirror, grinless and somber.

 

“Wha- what’s happening?” Maka managed, blinking down at the water around her feet. “What happened? Did- is your soul finally-?”

 

“Yeah,” Spirit choked out, rubbing at his cheeks with a shaking hand. “Yeah, it’s whole now. I can feel it. I’m not- not going to be here much longer, I think.”

 

“Really?” Maka whispered. She sounded almost dazed, like she had stumbled into a dream.

 

“Y-yeah,” Spirit whimpered. “You’re- you’re going to have to go back soon too, okay? You’re going to have to fry that bastard for me.”

 

“No,” Maka cut in immediately, voice pitching up into something considerably more frantic. “No, you can’t- no-”

 

“I love you.” Spirit sniffed loudly, big fat tears rolling down his cheeks. _“I love you so much,_ you hear me?”

 

“I don’t want you to go,” Maka sobbed, before falling forward to cling to him again, shoulders quaking violently. _“I don’t want you to go-”_

 

“Shh, it’s okay.” Spirit’s trembling fingers stroked through her hair. “It’s okay, don’t cry…”

 

“I don’t want you to go away.” Maka hiccuped loudly into the front of his shirt. “I don’t- don’t w-want-”

 

“I know.” Spirit shut his eyes, lips quivering. “N- neither do I.”

 

“Why can’t you stay?” Maka choked out, voice ringing loudly throughout the room. “Why-?”

 

“I know.” Spirit pulled away, bringing his hands up to cup his daughter’s face and tilt it up to meet his, managing to give her a weak, watery smile. “I know. I n- never could give you what you want, could I?”

 

Maka whimpered in response, eyes soaking and vulnerable and helpless as she stared up at him, lower lip trembling and hands gripping his arms almost desperately.

 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t- couldn’t give you what you wanted.” His thumbs moved forward to brush away some of the wetness under her eyes. “I’m sorry that- that I’m n- no - no _good-_ ” He gulped down what looked like a heavy weight.

 

“Why did you cheat?” Maka voice broke. “I can’t- I never understood _why-?”_

 

“Be- because I’m not any good. Because I’m dumb, and I was young, and I’m just no good.” Spirit leaned forward, pressed a kiss to Maka's forehead as he spoke. “But- but you’re good. And your partner’s good. And you’re going to be okay, baby girl. You’re going to be okay.”

 

Maka let out another sob.

 

The water was down to their soles, now, only a thin layer of liquid across the floor and sticking to their shoes. Spirit’s body was starting to glow a silvery blue, causing him to blink down in tearful confusion, before pressing one more kiss to Maka’s forehead. He lingered there, for a good long second, before pulling away and giving her another teary smile.

 

“I love you so much,” Spirit whispered, tears dripping down his chin. “So, so much. My stong, beautiful little girl. And I’m sorry I couldn’t be better. I really, really am.”

 

Maka sniffed loudly, still clinging to her father’s wrist, and gave him shaky nod.

 

“I love you too,” She choked out. “I love you too, Papa. I’m- I’m going to miss you so much.”

 

Spirit gently took her hands, then, and led her forward, over to Soul, who blinked in surprise.

 

“You promised, remember?” Spirit said simply.

 

“Promised what?” Maka asked weakly, glancing over at Soul, back up at her father.

 

Spirit, whose face was still wet and red from crying, just looked at Soul expectantly.

 

“To protect you,” Soul said quickly, once he’d realized what he wanted. “To make you happy. To- uh- treat you like a princess.”

 

Maka blinked. Soul felt his face burn, but he went on, anyway.

 

“To- to give you everything you deserve. To give you everything I possibly can.”

 

Spirit nodded in approval, but Maka held Soul’s gaze.

 

“Did you?” Maka whispered.

 

Soul swallowed. “Y- yeah.”

 

Maka just stared at him, and he realized that her eyes were watering all over again.

 

“Even if we can’t resonate?” She asked.

 

_(burning, everything was burning, electricity scorched his body, burnt her hands to a crisp-)_

 

He looked her straight in the eye. It was the most vivid moment of clarity he’d ever experienced in his life. “I promise.”

 

She swallowed. Reached her trembling hands forward, out to him, still, covered by Spirit’s hands, and he immediately took them.

 

“Then I promise too,” Maka said, voice firm and determined and still shaking, all at the same time. “I swear on my life.”

 

And now he was feeling wet heat beginning to form in his eyes, heat that he had to blinked back quickly to try to stop it from growing. But it was too late- it was growing fast, and indefinitely threatened to spill out.

 

Spirit, ever so gently, let go of her hands, letting just hers and Soul’s connect.

 

“Take on the world for me, kiddo,” his voice whispered.

 

**.**

 

The cozy living room was a mess. The bookshelves were smashed, knick-knacks and books were torn apart to pieces, the floorboards were smashed in, and furniture was splintered.

 

He could see Saiko on the floor across from them, groaning. Hand immediately stretching out, beginning to frantically grope for his gun.

 

Soul rolled over on his stomach, letting out a pained gasped as his entire body protested. He was pretty sure something was broken, though he couldn’t quite say what because everything hurt.

 

Across from him, under the wall on which her body had left a large dent, green eyes met his, red and puffy, and from there, pure instinct kicked in yet again.

 

He transformed, flying into her waiting her hand, just as Saiko managed to prop himself up, just as his eyes widened.

 

_“LET’S GO, SOUL RESONANCE!”_

 

Every vein in his body screamed, but he’d never felt more alive. Their voices overlapped like a stereo in his head, and he felt her power, her raw, unfiltered _power_ flow through him.

 

He came close to laughing aloud, an almost maniacal sound, because dear _god,_ he had missed that feeling.

 

She leapt forward with a cry, swinging him forward with seemingly as much viciousness and strength she could possibly muster. They were an avenging angel, their strikes would be merciless, full of power and rage.

 

A scream as the blow connected. A thud as a body hit the ground.

 

Saiko lay unmoving, body face-down on the floor.

 

Above him stood Spirit’s misty form, all but glowing in the dim light, who stared down at his murderer with an expression of grim satisfaction.

 

His eyes darted up then to meet his daughter’s, to give her one last pride-filled smile. His eyes closed as his form dissipated, condensed into a round wisp of light, and disappeared with a gentle shimmer.


	12. do not go gently

Haru Saiko turned out to be much skinner under the mask and false body weight, practically all skin and bones despite the amount of brute strength he had displayed in their fight. His face looked worn, and actually like it had been genuinely good-looking once upon a time. But in the present, it only looked hollowed out and eroded, like the past several years had taken a toll on him.

 

It turned out that he had been stalking poor Norman Wilkes and several other security guards for about a year using a variety of different masks, trying to figure whose place to take, who he could easily mimic for an extended period of time. It was no wonder he went after the soft-spoken one who kept to himself and had kids who lived away from home.

 

Once he had killed Wilkes, he had gone to his shift in his place, if only to mess with the cameras and place them all on a film loop. He returned hours later under the pretense of a lost wallet minutes before Annie was due to arrive, and managed to sneak up to Spirit’s apartment and back out again just before she had.

 

He wasn’t expecting Soul to arrive though. He’d actually tried to make a break for the city borders as soon as he’d left the apartment building, knowing that the body would be discovered and the city would probably go into crisis mode. But he was too late- he was detained on the way back to Wilkes’ house to be questioned, and was soon place on a modified form of house arrest. Like the rest of the security guards working that night, he was to not be allowed to leave the building, and be closely monitored at all times.

 

While they were running around in Vegas, Death Scythe’s killer had never even left Death City. He was forced to stick with the script he was given, try to put on a convincing enough act in hopes that the surveillance on him would ease up long enough to escape.

 

That was all explained in the confession they managed to wrench out of him, mere days after his arrest.

 

“But why set up your daughter?” Soul remembered Sid asking, deep in the dungeons, watching the two figures sitting at the chrome table from behind a glass panel. 

 

“Because why wouldn’t I want her to follow in her mother’s footsteps?” Was Saiko’s response. He was sitting in the same spot that his daughter had been sitting in a mere few days ago, clad in a gray prison jumpsuit and bindings. One of the legs of the jumpsuit had been knotted over the stump of his missing foot- he'd been using a false leg, which had been confiscated during his arrest. “For her to die like her mother, to be _remembered_ in the same way her mother was? Every child should have the chance to surpass their parents’ legacy. The fact that it would be at the expense of the man who ate her mother’s soul was just the icing on the cake.” And Saiko would blink up at Sid, expression twisting into a bitter smirk. “I could grind his soul to little bitty pieces if I wanted to. But I chose to wear it as a jewel instead. I planned to, once I left the city. It would have made such a nice necklace. A perfect token of appreciation to my wife. Annie’s always been a difficult child, but if she were a gooddaughter, she would have understood.”

 

Soul remembered how Maka’s hand had clenched around his, the way she absolutely _glowered_ at the man through the glass despite the fact that he couldn’t see her through the two-way mirror, glowered like she was somehow hoping that her gaze would be enough to kill the man on the spot. She had been trembling, even, under the force of her anger, and Soul knew there was probably nothing more she wanted than for Saiko to drop dead where he stood.

 

“Yeah, I’m sure she understands enough,” was Sid’s only answer, voice going colder than Soul had ever heard it.

 

He described all of this to Annie Channon, of all people, who was sitting across from him in a small cafe that actually wasn’t that far from Deathbucks. Soul hadn’t been planning on running into her at all- he’d assumed that after she had been released she would have gone back home as soon as she could.

 

Apparently not, however. He’d run into her in line to pick up breakfast pastries. The girl they’d worked so hard to put behind bars was sitting next to him in a cafe with a muffin and a coffee cup and a still-bandaged nose, like she had never been arrested in the first place. And she had actually been the one to breeze on over to sit with him as he waited for his pastries to bake, sipping at her coffee and munching in a chocolate muffin.

 

“What?” She asked when he just stared at her, bewildered. “I don’t want to sit next to a stranger. It's not that weird.”

 

It kind of _was_ , but he didn’t really feel like telling her that. Because , surprisingly enough, he was finding that she actually wasn’t bad company so far. She was still blunt and rude and prickly, but he was starting to notice that none of her barbs ever really had venom in them, no matter how sharp they were. Apparently, insults were just her go-to means for all forms of communication for some reason. Once you got used to it, you hardly really noticed. 

 

“So you’re going to stick around for the trial?” Soul asked.

 

“Yeah.” Annie’s voice was muffled through the bite of muffin she had just taken, and she didn’t bother to close it or stop to chew as she spoke. “Might as well stay just to make sure the crazy bastard isn’t going to be able to hurt anyone again.”

 

From what he could tell, she was dealing with the revelation that her father had tried to frame her and have her executed fairly well. Although, to be fair, he had a distinct feeling that it probably wasn’t the most horrific thing he’d put her through in the years since her mother’s death. Still, she did look a bit more brooding than usual. Her fingers clenched around her coffee tighter than any emotionally stable person did as he told her about her father's interrogation.

 

He couldn’t help but feel a flash of pity towards her. It had been a hell of a long ride, and Saiko’s trial date hadn’t even been set yet.

 

“It’d be appreciated,” Soul replied. “We could probably convict him without you, though. Just in case you change your mind.”

 

“I won’t,” Was her curt reply.

 

She was a lot less inclined to reference her personal issues when not under the threat of execution, Soul was noticing, but he couldn’t exactly fault her for that. “Alright. Again- it’s appreciated.”

  
  
“I heard you the first time.” She popped the lid off of her empty coffee cup, crumbling the muffin wrapper in a ball before dropping it into the cup, replacing the lid. “Can I ask you something?”

 

“Sure.”

 

Annie flattened her lips for a second before speaking. “You...you had a bit of Death Scythe’s soul in you too, right?”

 

He wasn’t at all expecting that. “Huh?”

 

She huffed a little. “You heard me. Death Scythe’s soul. Or a piece of it anyway. You had a bit of it in you too, right?”

 

“Yeah. Why?”

 

“Did you ever hear things?” Annie asked. “Or, more specifically, have weird dreams?”

 

“...Yeah?” Soul couldn’t help but feel hesitant. He had no idea where she was going with this.

 

“Like of his memories?” Annie pressed.

 

“Yeah. I think so anyway.” It was hard to remember the details of those dreams. He recollected them in sort of a haze, colors and details mixing together to create a murky portrait. “And- and of drowning. I dreamt I was drowning a lot.”

 

Annie grimaced. “Yeah, let's not talk about those. Did-” She paused, clearly hesitating. “Did you ever dream about my memories?”

 

Soul blinked. “What? No.”

 

“Oh,” She said, looking relieved. “Oh good.”

 

“Wait.” That took a second to sink in. “Does that mean you’ve dreamed about my memories?”

 

“Yeah, a bit,” Annie admitted.

 

Soul felt a flare of panic go off in his stomach. “What?”

 

“Relax,” Annie said quickly, waving a dismissive hand. “I didn’t see much. Just you and your piano, mostly. And of Maka.” She eyed him for a second, a smirk playing at her lips. “You know, you are one whipped puppy. Like, goddamn.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Soul grumbled. But his heart was pounding a little bit, mainly because the thought of his memories left to the mercy of someone else? Kind of terrifying.

 

“But other than that,” She went on. “Did you notice anything else that was different? Or that there was somebody else’s soul attached to yours for more than a week?”

 

“No,” Soul admitted. “It took me a while to figure out what was happening. But until then, I didn’t even notice.”

 

“Oh thank god,” Annie replied with a sigh. “I thought it was just me at first. Though I seriously can’t believe I didn’t even notice.”

 

“Souls are weird,” Soul replied with a shrug.

 

“Damn right,” Annie muttered, before glancing over to Soul again. “So… he’s gone now? Death Scythe? His soul was released?”

 

Maka had cried. Cried hard. She’d waited though, until Sid and his squad had arrived at Wilkes’ house to take Saiko away. Then she’d fallen into Soul’s arms, and let the tears flow all over again. “Yeah.”

 

Annie was silent for a second.

 

“Can I ask you something too?” Soul asked.

 

“Shoot,” she replied dryly.”

 

Soul couldn’t help but smirk at that. A little, anyway, before letting it fall away to ask his question. “Were you really never angry with Death Scythe? Despite the fact that he ate your mom’s soul?”

 

“Not really,” Annie replied almost immediately. She brought an elbow up on the table, allowing her to rest her chin on her hand and stare past Soul, miles away. “Maybe I should be. But I never really knew her other than as a crazy person who killed a shit-ton of people, and as the lady who popped me out. And honestly, anybody could have done those two things. Maybe if she hadn't died, if she actually had a part in raising me, if I actually remembered her, things would be different. But she did die, and I don't remember her. So.” She shrugged. "'Sides, my dad raised me, and I don't like him very much."

 

Soul stared at her. “That sounds… pretty simple, actually.”

 

Annie scowled. “What, are you complaining?”

 

“No. Just curious. I wouldn’t really blame you if you were angry,” Soul admitted.

 

“Well, I’m not,” Annie replied, expression softening a little into something less hard. “Look at this way- Jana killed people. She did horrible things, things that used to give me nightmares just after hearing about them when I was a kid. I...I was honestly terrified of her, growing up." Her voice was soft, and it sounded almost like a confession. "She was my version of the Boogeyman, as a kid. I remember being glad she was dead, so that she couldn't get me too.” She glanced up at him, eyes narrowed, like she was gauging for his reaction. “So no. I'm not angry.”

 

“What if you had known her?” Soul asked, seriously hoping he wasn’t crossing a line that was piss her off somehow. “Known her as your _mom_ , at least. You think you’d feel any different?”

 

She went silent again. Thinking. Considering.

 

“You mean if I loved her?” She asked after a long second.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Probably.” The response was again, immediate. “Yeah, I think I’d definitely care a lot more. But for the record, I’m kind of glad things are the way they are.” She got to her feet then, slinging a small messenger bag over her shoulder. “I could have turned out like my dad. And I glad I didn’t.”

 

“Can’t blame you for that,” Soul replied, watching her.

 

“Why do you ask?”

 

He shrugged. “Just thinking.”

 

“Hm.” Her eyes narrowed at him, but she didn’t push any further. “Well. I’m heading out. I actually liked talking to you, you know. You’re not as pretentious as you look.”

 

Soul was taken aback. “What?”

 

“You’re not as pretentious as you look.” She gave him a look. “Jesus, stop asking me to repeat things all the time, it’s annoying.”

 

“...Right.” _Am I pretentious-looking?_ He hated to admit it, but the thought was in head now and it didn’t feel like it was coming out anytime soon. “See you around then, I guess.”

 

And she actually smirked at him a little, the closest thing to a smile he’d ever seen on her. Though maybe she actually had something to smile about, for once. Her crazy, homicidal parents were either dead, or locked away where they couldn't hurt her, or anyone else ever again. “See you around, Soul Eater.”

 

The bell jingled behind her as she left, the sound lost to the rest of the buzz of the cafe.

 

* * *

 

“So he liked the card?”

 

Annie wasn’t the only one he had ran into that day. Later on that afternoon, when Maka was having a (tremendously overdue) early dinner with her mother, so he went for a walk downtown. It was a fundamental law of nature that wherever there was ice cream, there was Black Star, which was proved when Soul had ran into Black Star loitering outside the ice cream parlor with the biggest hot fudge sundae he had ever seen in his life. Watching Black Star eat giant amounts of food was always pretty entertaining, so Soul decided to stick around and loiter with him.

 

“Yeah, he did,” Soul responded.

 

“Nice. Patty’s gonna be happy when I tell her.” Black Star then inhaled another entire scoop of ice cream in practically one bite.

 

“Damn, dude,” Soul said, faintly impressed.

 

“Thank you, thank you!” Black Star wiped his mouth and did an over-exaggerated bow, prompting Soul to straighten up and clap. “And Maka got to talk with him? Before he- well, left?”

 

Soul nodded, leaning back against the wall like he had been before. “Yeah. Yeah, he did. They got to say goodbye.”

 

“Good,” Black Star responded, and his voice sounded almost softer than usual. “I’m glad. I really am.”

 

“Me too,” Soul admitted.

 

The city around them was calm, at that time a day. A family of four passed them, the two parents, a little girl, and a little boy, the children chattering excitedly with the parents as they streamed into the ice cream shop.

 

It was almost surreal, in a way. After everything that happened, it was weird to actually take a step back into the rest of the world. To see it go on, to realize it had probably kept going on while they were gone, without a care in the world.

 

“Guess there’s nothing else to do but move on now, huh?” Black Star asked. His eyes were fixed past Soul, through the glass windows of the shop, at the family inside.

 

_Move on._

 

It sounded so simple, when really, it wasn’t. It felt strange to even suggest a thing, too soon. Death Scythe, Spirit, had only been gone, really gone, for a few days.

 

But Black Star was right, he supposed. And of course it was Black Star, blunt, straight to the point Black Star to realize it. There really was nothing else to do. The killer was caught, the soul had released.

 

The only thing left was them, left standing on a ledge, facing the world like the rest of the living.

 

“Guess so,” Soul replied.

 

* * *

 

He stood next to her in the cemetery.

 

Spirit’s headstone was made of a simple marble, carved with a cross and his name in the middle. It was decorated with several bouquets of lilies, some of them fresh, some of them slightly wilted on the edges. Patty’s card was placed there too, the thin layer of glitter sprinkled onto the ground below.

 

And a part of Soul felt like Spirit was going to suddenly pop out at any minute, to maybe complain that the headstone looked tacky or something. It was a weird feeling, especially while he was standing over his grave, his _body_ , technically, that was only six feet under.

 

“You okay?” Soul asked, because Maka had been quiet for a long time.

 

“Just thinking,” Maka admitted. She had placed a bouquet of roses, her father’s favorite, apparently, right next to his headstone. The bright red stood out clearly against the white of the rest of the bouquets _(like a bloodstain on a tile floor)._

 

“What are you thinking?” He asked.

 

“When he was planning a funeral, Lord Death asked me if I wanted to give a eulogy.” Maka stepped back, staring at the name etched into the headstone. Her features were fuzzy, backlit by the slowly setting sun behind them. “I said no, because I knew I wouldn’t be able to get through it without crying in front of all those people. But now...I don’t know. A part of me wishes I had. There’s- there’s a lot I want to say, I guess.”

 

A faint breeze rolled in, causing her pigtails, her collar, to sway gently in the rhythm of the wind.

 

“You could give it right now,” Soul offered.

 

“Right now?” Maka asked disbelievingly, glancing over to him.

 

“Why not?”

 

“I-” Maka stopped. “I don’t know. No one’s around to hear. Not even Papa.”

 

“You never know,” Soul replied quietly. “Maybe he’s listening, wherever he is.”

 

He saw her swallow.

 

“You won’t make fun of me?” Maka asked softly.

 

“‘Course not,” Soul said immediately, and he couldn’t help but feel a little hurt at that. “Maka, of course not.”

 

“I know- I just- it almost feels silly. Because I know that- that he’s not here.” Maka stared down at the grave, at the dirt that still looked fresh from a week earlier.

 

“Then why are we here?” Soul pointed out.

 

“Fair enough,” Maka admitted, eyes flickering back up at the etchings in the marble.

 

For a second, all they could hear was the sound of the breeze whistling through the grass, through the other surrounding tombstones.

 

“Papa was young when he had me,” Maka began. “I’ve always known that. I remember looking at him and Mama standing with the other parents in my kindergarten class, and realizing that everyone else’s parents looked so much older.”

 

She paused for a second. Soul watched her, watched as she took a deep breath, and continued.

 

“There have been times when I wondered if he regretted me being born.” Her voice cracked a little. “He never really acted like it, kind of. He’s the one who taught me how to read, how to ride a bike. He used to let me braid his hair all the time. The night before him and Mama were going to repaint their bedroom, he gave me a box of markers and let me color all over the walls. I remember he actually asked Mama if they could leave it like that for a little while. We were both pretty disappointed when Mama said no.” A small smile quirked at her lips for a second, before disappearing.

 

“But then he’d stay out late at night. He’d tell me all the time, _Papa loves Mama and Maka the most._ But- but he’d be gone for a long time. He’d say he was going to the store, but he’d stop by a club or something on the way back and be out longer than he should have. I started following him by the time I was in first grade. I remember that, because I saw him and my friend’s mother together, and that was when I started following him around to see if he was seeing her. He wasn’t, but he was seeing pretty much every other woman in the city.”

 

Even after everything that had happened, there’s a mountainful of bitterness in her words, all accumulated throughout the course of her life. That much bitterness is hard to swallow, after all, no matter what happens.

 

“And I’d wonder, all the time. If he was doing it because he didn’t want to be with us. With me.” She swallowed. “I’d even wonder sometimes if he secretly hated me. It was silly, maybe, but- I don’t know. Everything was confusing. Papa was good. He was, in a way. He loved me. He wasn’t honest, for a long time, I never knew whether or not he was telling the truth, but he always tried to do the right thing. He was a death scythe, he was _the_ Death Scythe. His entire job was to make the world a better place. But then he’d go with those women. I’d see Mama crying all the time, when she thought I couldn’t see. And I wanted her to leave him. I was _happy_ when she left him, proud of her, even. Mama’s stronger than anyone I know, but she loved him. She loved him so much, gave him so many chances to redeem himself and prove that he was really sorry and- and it was like he _didn’t care.”_

 

Her voice was starting to wobble. Soul was about to cross over to her, to take her hand, maybe, when she spoke once again.

 

“You hurt me,” Maka was speaking less to him now, and more directed at the tombstone. “You hurt me and Mama over and over again. You were terrible to her, and honestly? I’m still angry about it. She deserved so much better than you. And I know you know it.”

 

Another pause, as she moved a hand up to wipe her eyes.

 

“But I’d never ask for another papa.” Her voice was soft. “You- you loved me. I know you loved me. That’s why it hurt so much, that’s why it was so _confusing_. Because you were still the same person who taught me how to read, taught me how to ride a bike. You were always there when I cried, whenever I needed you the most. You were there even in Italy, when you knew how mad I was at you. Even when you heard me say that I didn’t want to live with you anymore.” She sniffed. “You were a good papa, and a shitty husband. You were so confusing for so long but- but I think now, I think I can accept that. Accept you. And someday, I really, really hope we can see each other again.”

 

The sun was mostly below the horizon, then. The sky surrounding them was a mosaic of pinks and blues and oranges.

 

“In the meantime, I’m glad you’re facing the sunset.” Maka turned in the direction of said sunset, the wind causing stray strands of hair to whip around her face. “You always loved watching the sky.”

 

_(“I’m going to miss this”, he had said, while staring out of Soul’s bedroom window)_

 

The wind was starting to pick up around them, and in the ensuing silence, the sound of the ruffling grass was almost deafening.

 

“That was good,” Soul finally spoke, stepping forward to stand next to her. He couldn’t help but glance at the tombstone one last time, at the inscription carved into its surface.

 

**SPIRIT “DEATH SCYTHE” ALBARN**

**WEAPON, FATHER, FRIEND**

**GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN**

 

Maka’s eyes were watery when she looked up at him. “You think so?”

 

“Yeah. I do.” He reached out, offering a hand. “Come on. Let’s go home. I’ll make you dinner.”

 

“Oh _sure,”_ Maka muttered, before reaching out to take his hand.

 

It was a long walk back to their apartment. They spent most of it hand-in-hand, under the streetlights that were just beginning to light up in the rapidly dimming daylight. The streets were quiet, save for a few younger students chasing one another around, laughing and screeching and screaming.

 

“Hey, do I look pretentious to you?” Soul asked.

 

Maka gave him a strange look. “What are you talking about”

 

“Come on, do I?”

 

The bewilderment faded, and she scoffed. “Well, _yeah._  You’re a hipster.”

 

“Hey.”

 

That caused Maka to let out a small giggle, and the sound, after seeing seeing her grim-faced and sullen and sad for what felt like so damn _long_ , was like music to his ears

 

It wasn’t about moving on, Soul would realize later, when he had Maka’s head resting on his shoulder and Blair purring softly in his lap, television blaring softly in the background. It was about knowing everything would be okay at the end.

 

And finally, after what felt like an eternity, it finally starting to feel like it would be, someday.


	13. epilogue

**_Three years later_ **

 

**_._ **

 

**.**

 

And now, here they are.

 

“Your tie is crooked.”

 

At that observation, slim little fingers come up to redo the knot of the tie before smoothing it back down under his vest.

 

He watches her silently, slowly taking in how her hair falls down around her shoulders, the way it frames her face _(she started wearing it down about a year ago, it was one of the first signs that they were all growing up)_ . How her little black blazer and skirt fit like a glove, how her strappy black shoes that she bought specifically for the little extra heel don’t actually give her that much extra height _(she’s never really been that short in the first place, but he’d hit a growth spurt when he turned fifteen and she’ll probably never forgive him for that)_. How she suddenly looks older now, and Soul’s starting to think that maybe it’s not because of her dress, or her hair, and maybe it’s just because they’re about to go past the red curtain leading to the Death Room and be handed their three-star certifications. Because tomorrow is his first day working with Kid, and the day after is her flight to Europe with Liz and Patty to take out her first official three-star level kishin.

 

They’re technically adults now. In the eyes of their younger selves, back in what feels like a lifetime ago, they’d definitely fit that qualification. It feels odd, because at the same time, Soul doesn’t actually feel that older.

 

“What?” Maka asks after a second, giving him a quizzical look.

 

He hadn’t even realized he was staring at her. But he was, at the bright green eyes that somehow had the ability to brighten his darkest days, at the wispy blonde hair that always felt soft under his fingers.

 

“You,” He responds, and gives her a lopsided grin when she scoffs. “Your pins are crooked too, here-”

 

Soul reaches forward, more gingerly and carefully than how she had adjusted his tie, to turn the black cross-shaped pins on her collar until they’re straight, flat against her collar.

 

_(They still visit Spirit’s grave. Not as often as they did after they’d finally arrested Saiko, but they visit pretty much every holiday, every Father’s Day. They both know that it’s not where he is, wherever he is, but it’s more of a matter of remembering more than anything else)_

 

When he’s done, she takes his hands by the fingertips, before sliding her palms against his.

 

“You’re ready?” She asks. Her eyes are bright with excitement and anxiety all rolled into one.

 

“‘Course,” He replies.

 

_(Of course he’s ready, not matter how nervous he might be, because it feels like his entire life has led to this moment, to him standing on that platform by her side, always by her side)_

 

_(He’ll always be by her side. It’s what he promised, after all, over and over again, when her fingers had first touched his, in the milliseconds before he was sliced open in Italy, when he was talking to the ghost of her father who was adamant that he not repeat his mistakes)_

 

_(It’s a less of a promise and more of a vow at this point, one that’s ingrained into the very makeup of his soul, his very own song he forged just for her)_

 

She’s pressed against him, close enough so that their foreheads touch. There’s an odd, fluttery spike of energy in his chest formed from anticipation at this turning point, the climax that they spent a good portion of their lives building up to, and he suppresses it by gripping her tighter. Hums a little in her ear, her song, _their_ song, sways her a little to the beat he knows by heart.

 

“What are you doing now?” Maka asks in bewilderment, her breath close to his own.

 

“Dunno,” he responds, because he really doesn’t. He’s excited and terrified and nervous and happy all at the same time, and it’s overwhelming enough that he might have a panic attack, later. But it’s fine, because Maka’s here, Maka’s in his arms, she’s close enough that he can plant a quick, albeit sloppy kiss to her cheek and cause her let out a surprised laugh in response. It causes something in his chest to swell, for the happiness to briefly overtake the terror, and holy _shit_ he was pretty much fucking giddy at this point.

 

The sound of someone clearing their throat is what pulls them apart.

 

The former Mrs. Albarn stands with her arms crossed next to a beaming Blair, whose low-cut dress and leather boots contrast sharply against Kami’s business attire. They’re quite the pair of polar opposites, but they’ve managed to form a friendship over time, despite the rocky start that was their first meeting.

 

_(Maka’s mother had been against their relationship, at first. It had taken a bit to shake off those years of bitterness, for Soul to convince her that her daughter was the best thing to ever happened to him, because healing took time. But it wasn’t as long as it could have been though, maybe because she’d finally decided to stay in Death City after her ex-husband’s real murderer had been arrested and thus saw firsthand what Maka had done for herself, the kind of person Maka had become while she had been gone)_

 

“If you two are done,” Kami drawls in an unamused tone as she inclines her head over to the curtain, but there was definitely an amused smirk playing at her lips.

 

“Oh, they’re never done,” Blair giggles.

 

“I’ve noticed,” Kami replies dryly, but her tone isn't as hard as it could be.

 

 _“Okay,_ Mama,” Maka grumbles, cheeks flushing pink, and Soul can’t help but snicker.

 

She pulls him by the fingers towards the red curtains, as they head towards the stage in preparation for their names to be called. Her mother gives him a small, but encouraging smile, and Blair an enthusiastic wave, all as she links an arm through Kami’s and pulls her excitedly away, likely to their seats.

 

He’s so lucky, is all he can thinks, standing with Maka’s fingers entwined with his own, seeing the way she smiles at him just as Kid calls their names, a half-nervous, half-excited smile that sends a fluttery feeling through his limbs.

 

She’ll never know how lucky he feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy fucking JESUS this monster is finally done!! HALLELUJAH! (last chapter's a little late, but it's fine, it's only an hour past midnight in my time zone)
> 
> Special thanks to ahshesgone, my lovely artist partner, who made some fabulous art found at http://ahshesgone.tumblr.com/post/182170016830/yooo-its-resbang-time-this-year-i-had-the-luck 
> 
> (bear with me, idk how to put links down on this site, but please do check it out and give ash some love)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and have a lovely day!
> 
> Edit: Placed in some edits on March 30-31. Idk if people will even notice, but I did.


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